An Incomplete Potter Collection
by Racke
Summary: Unfinished stories and general oneshots. Including time-travel, dimension-hopping, and cracky history-lessons from Salazar.
1. Collection Chapter

An Incomplete Potter Collection ch Collection

Speaking Salazar

Harry Quits

Amortentia

Hedwig and Harry

Time Traveling Draco

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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Story: [Speaking Salazar]

Summary: Salazar Slytherin separates the things omitted and rewritten from the true facts of history.

Genre: Crack/Humor

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Cunning? Ambition? Well, not really, no.

Godric didn't want the ones who'd steal the righteous glory of others, Helga didn't want the ones who wouldn't work hard for the sake of others, and Rowena didn't want the ones who'd actually want to do anything with what they learned. I got the spares, so to speak.

Sure, we told them that they were just as chosen as the rest of the little buggers, we couldn't very well let the ambitious and sneaky believe that nobody else would have them. It would've gotten us into trouble, later.

I did my best to persuade them not to be evil little blighters, but getting them really drunk and making sure as many of them as possible got laid, could only do so much.

Still, those kids worshiped me, you know? Rowena forced them to think, Helga forced them to work, Godric forced them to be polite and humble. I forced them to get me booze after curfew. Not that I ever commented on five or six bottles of it disappearing from the stores when I only asked for one.

Why do you think my House is in the dungeons, huh? It's cause there's less direct sunlight, that's why. Bloody little shites couldn't take their liquor.

And yeah, I did build a Chamber, all to myself. Hell, I even put a basilisk in it to dissuade people from looking for it. Not to mention using a password nobody who ever knew me would even think of saying, in parseltongue.

Damn, but that Chamber was brilliant, of course, I suppose that I should've hidden the entrance better. But, then again, sometimes the best secrets are those hidden in plain sight. Nobody would think I'd actually put the entrance in the girls' bathroom on the second floor. I mean, that's where most of my House spent getting laid whenever the broom-closets were all taken!

So, why did I make it? What did I have to hide, if not the basilisk?

Simple, after a couple of years I started to realize just how much of my booze my students were stealing. So I put a bunch of it in the Chamber of Secret Spirits. Heh, nobody would find it all in there. Best to always keep a safe number locked away for a rainy day, you know?

Anyways, I did leave the school too. That's certainly true. Got into a fight with Godric about sleeping through my own lesson, getting the students so drunk that they slept through _their_ lessons, and some general disagreement about me supposedly hiding away all my 'secrets' in a chamber guarded by a monster.

'Supposedly'. I'm a bit of a talkative drunk, but I tend to speak in riddles, so nobody really learns anything sensible, which is usually really good, but sometimes really, really bad. I mean, how could I actually justify putting a basilisk in the girls' bathroom, in order to hide and protect my booze?

Naturally, I did the only sensible thing. I slipped Godric a love potion and aimed him at my fellow Founders as a distraction, then I took off.

I ran into this random kid who was upset about something, I wasn't really listening since I could hear Helga roaring behind me, so I socked the kid in the face and threw him behind me in an attempt to slow the others down a little bit more. Then I ran even faster.

Godric chased after me for a while, after he was given the antidote, since he was still kind of upset about that. And I suppose the kid I socked in the face was a muggleborn. There's a little bit of truth in every story, don't get me wrong. But to call me ambitious and cunning would be a blatant lie.

That would be like saying that we didn't give Helga all the paperwork after assuring her that we'd all done twice as much on our own. Or that we didn't spike Rowena's drink every now and again, just to see if she'd get up on the table and strip, again. Or that we didn't distract Godric with sparkly things to keep him from going on about honor and glory, and what not. Or that they didn't get me drunk and told me that some really ugly, or very unsanitary, or just plain old person wanted me, I have more memories of waking up next to horrifyingly naked old people than I have of waking up without a hangover.

Not that I rarely got a hangover. I got hangovers lots of times, but every now and again, I wouldn't get one. And every now and again, one of those bastards wanted revenge and set me up with a female ogre.

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Story: [Harry Quits]

Summary: When Harry is once again caught up in schemes, he leaves. Not Hogwarts, not Britain. He leaves Magic.

Genre: Adventure

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Harry stared in horror as a the fourth piece of paper was propelled from the cup.

This was somehow related to him, he knew it. Every time something truly _weird_ happened, it was always related to him.

The students are getting petrified by an unknown source? Well, we don't have a clue how that happened, but let's blame the whole thing on Harry Potter, that sounds perfect.

A murderer breaks out from Azkaban? Let's put some Dementors around the school that we think is his target, they couldn't possibly fail to catch him a second time, despite lacking a jail to back them up, and that we haven't actually figured out how he managed to escape the first time. Oh, and did we mention that he's Harry Potter's innocent godfather, and only broke out in order to kill the traitor who caused his parents' deaths?

So, yeah. This was most certainly somehow related to him.

"Harry Potter." Came Dumbledore's somewhat reproachful voice.

And it was _never_ Harry's fault.

He wasn't even sure why he always ended up as the one getting involved in these things. First year, okay, he searched out the Stone, if only so that Voldemort didn't come back to life and kill him, and he was the one who acted since nobody believed his warnings. Second year, he went down into the Chamber of Secrets and killed a basilisk to save the life of his best friend's sister, and found a young Voldemort, but only because nobody who might've been able to help actually _listened_ to him. Third year, he just chased down this big dog that kidnapped his friend, and it turns out that it's his godfather.

So what the hell allowed Dumbledore to sound _reproachful_? Like this was somehow his fault? Like he'd just destroyed centuries of tradition on some childish _whim_?

Glancing around, it wasn't difficult to spot the glares from the Hufflepuff table, which, in all fairness, wasn't actually something he could fault them for. They'd gotten their chance in the spotlight, and now he has to come along forcing them back into obscurity.

Fact remained that it _wasn't his fault_, but they tended to be rather impulsive with their 'unfaltering loyalty'. They'd hailed him as a hero, same as everyone except Slytherin, during his first year. They'd turned on him in second year, same as everyone else, and then they'd hailed him as a hero by the end of it. The House of loyalty really wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. But, then again, perhaps they were more loyal to themselves than the rest of the school.

Ravenclaw was a mix of many expressions, most of them disapproving. Because they just immediately figured that he not only _wanted_ to be part of something that would cause his fame to spiral even further out of control than it already had, but that he'd succeeded where the always resourceful Weasley twins had failed.

Idiots.

Slytherin looked hateful. So that was pretty much the same as always. Bloody gits.

Gryffindor table. Ouch. Ron's jealousy was back, and he was glaring. Hermione was looking just as reproachful as Dumbledore could ever hope to manage. And the Weasley twins looked a bit peeved, but perhaps slightly proud? Hard to tell, they were good at hiding their expressions after all their time as pranksters. Ginny was staring at him in awe, which was mildly disturbing actually. And Colin Creevey looked like he was trying not to pee himself, which was just as utterly horrifying as always.

So, not only are the teachers pissed at him for ruining the tournament. Not only are everyone in the Great Hall absolutely convinced that this is somehow his fault. But now he'll probably be forced to compete in a tournament with a horrifying death toll.

No.

Damn it all to Dursleys. No!

He was _not_ doing this. Not this year. This year things would be normal dammit! It would be normal, or he'd quit!

Quit. Yes, of course. Why hadn't he ever seen it before? He didn't _have_ to go to Hogwarts. In fact, there were at least two other schools in the magical world. He could probably find one that was far away from here. A place where his innocent godfather wasn't thrown into hell on Earth for a decade without even a mockery of a trial.

Perfect.

Harry stared up at the teachers' table. They'd probably complain about this course of action he'd just decided on. But, well, one teacher tried to kill him – and died – one teacher tried to turn him into a vegetable – and became one himself – one made the utterly dry books on goblin wars actually sound exciting by comparison to his own description of them, and one spent most of his lessons insulting his parentage... Why did he want to stick around again? They'd have to have better teachers out there _somewhere_.

"No. Damn it all. No." Harry Potter got to his feet, glaring at the teachers' table, because from experience, this was probably that guy Moody's fault.

He wasn't sure why Moody would do such a thing, and he didn't really want to suspect him, since he was actually a good teacher. But all of his previous years had somehow involved his DADA teacher trying to kill him. Remus might not have been doing so on purpose, what with the being a werewolf and all, but he still kind of counted.

"I didn't join it. I don't even _want_ to join it!" He spat out at them, making several people start whispering about him making a scene.

He really hated his fame. He loathed it with every fiber of his being, actually. But did anyone ever actually believe him when he said that? No, of course not. That would've made _sense_, and the Wizarding World couldn't very well make sense, could it? That'd just be absurd.

"Be that as it may, my boy." Came the headmaster's patronizing voice. "But putting your name in the Goblet of Fire counts as a magical contract. So, I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter."

"But I _didn't_ put my name in it!" Harry glared, he'd heard of magical contracts, how they could rip the magic out of someone.

He didn't want to lose his magic. The mere thought of it was horrifying.

But he didn't want to compete, either. And as he stood there, judging which was actually worse, he came to a startling realization.

He'd be free. In the muggle world, nobody knew his name. Nobody would keep him at his relatives after it came to light that they'd been starving him, would they? That's why Hermione never believed him when he told her of it – she couldn't imagine that nobody would've acted against that.

He'd be free. Because why would Voldemort want to kill him? This worthless non-magical coward?

He'd be _free_.

"I quit." His voice echoed through the Great Hall with a fascinating finality. He was smiling, actually, a small, almost blissful smile. "I, Harry James Potter, hereby resign from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Then he turned around, making his way towards Gryffindor tower in order to pack his bags, as pandemonium erupted from all around.

"Harry, my boy." Dumbledore sounded oddly choked, as if someone was holding a knife to his throat. "Surely you can't mean that."

"Oh, but I _can_." Harry could admit that his voice had a slightly gleeful tone that really didn't make him sound old and wise, but he was okay with that. He was fourteen, he still had time to work on it. "I'd rather lose my magic than compete in a tournament that's probably some elaborate plan of Voldemort's to kill me." There was a unanimous gasp at the name. "I figure, at least this way, I won't be famous. And I won't be shipped off to the _Dursleys_ when summer comes around." He did his very best to put in all of his revulsion at his relatives into that statement.

He giggled, wondering briefly if he was perhaps, just a tiny bit hysterical.

"Did you know that I made a Patronus through the memory of believing that I would actually be able to move out? It was a wonderful Patronus," he reflected longingly. "But then Fudge decided not to give my innocent godfather his trial, but to have him Kissed, instead. Because that way nobody would ever blame him for his wrongful imprisonment. And you wonder why I don't trust politicians." He shook his head mournfully at the idiocy of the world.

A lot of people were staring at him in something akin to horror, which was pretty much normal.

But if they were going to stare in horror regardless, he might as well give them one final push, right?

_"See you, never."_ He hissed in all of his parselmouth glory, and then he turned on his heel, and left. Not caring for the horrified gasps, or the way that the Slytherin emblem was following him with its eyes, or the voices of those who were still trying to undo his decision.

Harry Potter was halfway to the tower before he suddenly realized that he could probably make a Patronus from this memory.

The thought actually made him smile a little.

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Ron didn't try to stop him from leaving, but he did start on a rant about how he was making a scene, until Harry Silenced him. It was probably the best use he'd ever put that spell to, and that was including Silencing himself that one time so that nobody would hear his footsteps underneath his invisibility cloak.

Hermione began on her own rant about grades, and Harry cheerfully ignored her. Since he already knew that she'd have studied enough to actually be able to stop him from Silencing her.

The twins were looking worried, but hid it behind their cheers for the chaos he was spreading in his wake.

The members of the Quidditch team were extremely relieved that Oliver Wood wasn't around to cry his eyes out at the thought of losing Harry as Gryffindor's Seeker, but were sad to see him go nonetheless.

Ginny had apparently written home about resigning as well, and was looking at him with a mixture of longing, awe, frustration, anger, and barely veiled lust. Harry was very relieved that Percy was keeping her busy with his own tirade about the wonders of Hogwarts at the other end of the common room, as she was really creeping him out.

Colin was trying to capture this moment with as many pictures as were physically possible, making Harry sincerely hope that he wouldn't go blind from all the flashing.

The rest of Gryffindor kept away, not sure if they should be glaring at him for being a coward, rant about traditions, disapprove of him resigning, or just generally decide that he wasn't worth the trouble.

The only one who actually seemed to support his decision was Neville.

"I don't know what will happen if the Goblet decides you violated its decision, but take care Harry. You were always a good friend."

Harry actually felt tears stinging his eyes at that moment. Sure, he knew that Neville was a nice guy, but that Neville would think the same of him? That he would actually support him, just like that?

For the first time, Harry Potter, well and truly wished that he'd helped a certain boy on the train find his toad.

"Neville, I don't think I deserve that. But thanks." He grinned at him. "And I'll be fine. Worst thing that could happen is I lose my magic, and that just makes me a muggle. Much worse to be an idiot." He nodded pointedly in Ron's direction.

Sharing a laugh at the indignation of the Silenced Weasley, Harry said goodbye and stepped out of the portrait.

Only to run into the Hogwarts staff.

Snape looked caught between murderous rage and unholy glee. McGonagall looked disapproving. Flitwick looked like he didn't really see the point of any of them being there. Sprout looked worried, but supportive. Moody was glaring. Pomfrey looked a bit as if she wanted to give him a hug. And Dumbledore seemed caught between horrified frustration and pompous anger.

"Madam Pomfrey, I won't be needing that reserve bed this year. I hope that you won't fault me for it." He felt a small smile reach his lips as she wiped a tear from her eye, before smiling back at him.

"Try to keep safe."

He nodded, feeling a bit of nostalgia wash over him. She never would trust that he really was trying, and then she'd grumble about it the next time his attempts failed. But she wouldn't. Not anymore.

He completely ignored the headmaster and all his attempts to draw attention to himself, deciding instead to say goodbye to the teachers who'd actually been teaching him things.

Flitwick seemed amused by Dumbledore's inability to rein him in. Sprout was shooting glares at the headmaster's blatant attempts to get him to reconsider – probably due to her being fairly certain that he wouldn't have been trying so hard if one of her Hufflepuff's had been the one deciding to leave. McGonagall's lips were becoming a thinner line every time that the headmaster opened his mouth. And Snape was obviously moments away from snapping and hexing him.

So Harry was extremely polite, and completely ignored the old coot and the greasy git. Then he turned around and began his trek towards the Great Hall.

Once there, he was met with Slytherin's cheering, Hufflepuff's obvious conflict, and Ravenclaw's careful consideration.

Slytherin would no longer have the Boy-Who-Lived around to annoy them, and they were immensely pleased by it. Hufflepuff was feeling guilty about doubting him, disapproval of his quitting, and general curiosity about where he would go from here. And Ravenclaw was beginning to realize that they didn't need to go to _Hogwarts_ in order to learn, and that there might be better choices, possibly without horrible teachers and without a curse placed on a very important teaching position.

Harry's march out of Hogwarts would be the source of legends. The day that the Boy-Who-Lived left the 'best school in England', would, after all, cause quite a bit of waves around the institution.

What could've gone so wrong that Harry Potter would leave Hogwarts? It must've been utterly horrible. Maybe a great scandal? Did he get thrown out? Why? Was it because he was a parselmouth? Had Harry Potter gone Dark?

The questions that would arise from it were endless, and some of them might actually end up denting the reputation of the ancient school.

Regardless, Harry soon found himself in Hogsmeade, quickly getting permission to use the Floo to get to Diagon Alley.

Just because he might lose his magic didn't mean that he would certainly lose his money. Best to check on that, first.

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Story: [Amortentia]

Summary: Something is weird with Harry's pumpkin juice. Awe at his brilliant deductions and not-at-all-crazy behavior.

Genre: Crack/Humor

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Harry sipped distractedly on his pumpkin juice.

It'd been a long day. Snape was still a slimy git that was lacking in shampoo-usage, Draco was still an inbred idiot, Ron still ate with the table-manners of a mountain troll, and their new Potions professor was a kind of 'bad touches' variant of creepy.

Still better than Snape though, but considering that Gilderoy Lockhart could probably teach Potions better than Snape – even after his accidental memory erasure – that really wasn't saying much.

His juice tasted funny.

Frowning slightly at the odd taste, whilst trying to come up with a reason for it, Harry glanced around the room. It wouldn't do to have someone sneak something they'd bought from the twins into his pumpkin juice, he didn't feel like spending some time as a canary today.

Still, he didn't have feathers yet, nobody else seemed to have reacted oddly to _their_ pumpkin juice, meaning that it was only his that tasted oddly, and Harry couldn't see anyone suspicious-looking within range.

Shrugging absently to himself, Harry took another sip of his funny-tasting pumpkin juice.

It tasted a bit like... weird. Whatever it was that had been added most certainly did not taste of pumpkins. It tasted more like something he'd find on Madam Pomfrey's shelves. Basically, it really tasted quite disgusting, only with a hint of something comfortably warm.

Obviously, someone had spiked his pumpkin juice with some manner of potion. The question was what kind of potion, for what reason, and who'd done so.

It didn't taste like anything else he'd personally tasted whilst in the care of the school nurse, so that erased quite a few variations of potions. It also didn't taste anything like polyjuice – for which he was grateful, as that would've completely ruined his pumpkin juice – or anything he could remember having forced down his throat in Snape's classes, which ruled out a lot more unpleasant concoctions.

Musing curiously at this new issue, Harry took another sip of his pumpkin juice.

Perhaps the smell would shed some light on this interesting conundrum?

Sniffing absently at his obviously tainted pumpkin juice, Harry came to the conclusion that it smelled a lot like pumpkin juice, with a hint of... fresh morning air? That was weird, he could've sworn he'd tasted old socks in there somewhere.

Staring suspiciously at the oddity that someone had tainted his pumpkin juice with, Harry finally let out a sigh.

"Hermione, can you explain to me how something can smell of 'fresh morning air' and taste like old socks?" He turned to the brightest witch of their generation.

"Wha-?" Hermione looked at him for a moment, clearly considering if she'd seen him hit his head on something whilst not truly paying attention.

"I'm trying to figure out what they poured in my pumpkin juice." He explained absently. "It tastes a bit like old socks, but smells like fresh morning air. How does that work? I thought smell and taste were supposed to be very closely linked?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she stared at him with mild horror. "Someone _poisoned your pumpkin juice_?"

"Poisoned is such a strong word..." Harry waved off her horror. "And it's not like any of Snape's poisons actually managed to give me more than a stomachache." He paused. "I wonder if that's why he was so insistent on getting the Defense position, you know, so that he wouldn't have to suffer through my immunity to his fantastic poison collection. It would explain a lot."

Hermione made a sound of frustrated despair. "Harry, please, focus. Potions are dangerous. Drinking potions that you don't know what they do is a Bad Idea."

"Well, I should certainly say so, I mean, it tastes like old socks. This is just cruelty to all fine tasters of pumpkin juice out there. If pumpkin juice isn't sacred, what is?" He begged his female friend for an answer.

"Harry. Shut. Up." She growled out in response, clearly not amused by his dramatics when she thought that he might be in serious danger. "What did you say it smelled like?"

"'Fresh morning air' and pumpkin juice." Harry shrugged, then took another sip of the odd liquid. "Tastes a bit like pumpkin juice, old socks, and burnt hair."

"Don't drink it!" Hermione yelled at him, snatching the goblet from his hand to inspect it for herself.

"Hermione, you know as well as I do that non-medical potions haven't worked on me since the end of second year." He paused. "I still say we should shove basilisk fangs into Neville's arm and heal them with basilisk tears, it would probably help him keep himself reasonably safe in Potions class."

"Not the time, Harry!" Hermione snapped back at him, sniffing the liquid. "This smells like... Luna?"

Harry paused at that, confused at why his pumpkin juice would smell like Luna. Especially since he felt he had a fairly good idea of what Luna smelled like, and that whilst it was most certainly a pleasant fragrance, it didn't have anything to do with fresh morning air.

Hermione looked as confused as he did, until understanding dawned with a kind of confusedly amused horror. "This is Amortentia. Someone slipped you a love potion, Harry."

Harry blinked, clearly not expecting that. "Huh. Well, there goes my instinctive urge to blame the twins." He shuddered slightly. "Even if they _were_ guilty of it, I still don't think I could blame them for it... for mental reasons."

"Despite their strange sense of humor, I doubt they'd try to slip you love potions, Harry." Hermione pointed out distractedly.

"For my sake, Hermione, I hope you're right." He nodded solemnly, before suddenly pausing. "Wait, isn't Amortentia supposed to smell like what you love?" He asked the witch in front of him curiously, his lips twitching upwards in a distinctly gleeful way.

"Harry, my romantic interests are not to be discussed, are we clear?" She asked in a very accurate portrayal of McGonagall.

Harry nodded, a dazed look in his eyes. "No questions asked, none at all." He grinned smugly. "But I'll be remembering this conversation during the long lonely nights at the Dursleys."

"Harry James Potter! Someone slipped you a love potion! This isn't the time to be pondering threesomes!" Hermione growled at him.

Harry blinked. "I wasn't." He stated honestly. "But know that my door is always open should you ever need a third wheel."

Hermione paused. "Wait, you're not completely in love with whoever made the potion." She pointed out.

"Of course not." Harry huffed indignantly. "I can throw off the Imperius, I'm immune to all poisons and most harmful potions, and I'm in the midst of a very nice daydream containing two very pretty witches."

"Gah! I give up!" Hermione threw her hands up into the air, her frustration reaching the boiling point.

"Can I have my pumpkin juice back?" Harry asked curiously. "It tasted quite awful, really, but it'd be hypocritical of me not to drink it."

Hermione turned her narrowed eyes towards him. "Harry James Potter. We are going to have a Talk."

Gulping nervously at the capital 't' in Talk, Harry hoped that it would involve neither the 'friend speech', or the 'birds and the bees', figuring he ought to be fairly safe from the 'let's see other people' since they weren't dating in the first place.

By the time they arrived at an abandoned classroom, hidden enough that Hermione could yell at him without anyone overhearing, Luna had somehow decided to join them.

Since Harry wasn't arguing with Luna on principle – you could never tell if you won or lost, but it rarely felt like a win – and since Hermione was apparently distracted by Luna's fragrance, the Ravenclaw was happily included in the Talk.

Fortunately, the Talk wasn't so much a talk, as it was a 'God Yes Don't Stop!' kind of thing.

And that's why Amortentia is for wusses.

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Story: [Hedwig and Harry]

Summary: Summer before Harry's Third year, Marge's dog hurts Hedwig. This doesn't happen without consequences however.

Genre: Drama

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Hedwig was hurt. In pain. Dying. Dying, dying _dying_!

Cradling her broken form in his arms, Harry couldn't even hear the voices of his relatives.

The wall was red now. Dog splattered over its entire surface. Angry dog. Violent dog. Hurt Hedwig. Dead, dead _dead_!

He needed to save Hedwig, needed to make her better. But he didn't know any magic like that. He hadn't learned any magic for healing. He didn't even have his wand, locked away as it was underneath the stairs.

But Hedwig needed to live. She couldn't die. He couldn't let her die, die and leave him alone. Not alone. Never alone again. Never without Hedwig. He needed Hedwig.

There was something inside of him, raging, boiling, responding to his need. Responding to his desperation. Magic poured off him in waves as he focused on the broken form of his first friend.

Something moved towards him, tried to stop him from helping Hedwig. The something _burned_.

Hedwig wasn't safe here. She would be hurt again. They needed to get away. Away from here. Never to return. Never to look back. Away, away _away_!

XXX

Moody stared at the scene, his magical eye swirling madly over what had once been Number 4 Privet Drive.

Four dead, plus a dog. A badly burnt house. And no sign of the Boy-Who-Should-Have-Been-There.

"This is owl blood." He commented gruffly as he pointed to the brownish blot on the ground. He glanced towards the dog. "I guess that explains why the dog died."

"He was protecting his owl?" Amelia asked clinically, still upset over Dumbledore's attempts at keeping this quiet.

"Aye." He nodded. "And that crowbar the fatty is holding looks like its gone up against a wizarding shield."

"They attacked him?" She drew in a breath, suppressing the building rage at the thought of what could've happened to the Wizarding World's savior.

"The large fat one did. The small fat one was either trying to stop him by words, or egging him on. Hard to tell." He shrugged. "I'm guessing the thin woman was trying to comfort the dog's owner." He pointed towards a pair of crumbled forms close to the twisted shape of what had once been a dog.

"What about the house?" Amelia asked.

"Looks like overexposure to magic." He frowned. "Maybe the kid was trying to heal his owl, maybe he was just trying to get away. But..." He paused. "Maybe we should look a little closer. I think I see bars on that window."

"Bars?" Amelia spluttered. "Why would there be bars?"

"I don't know." Moody admitted. "But it might be related to why Potter's trunk is locked underneath the stairs. Along with his wand."

"They took his _wand_?" Amelia demanded with a sharp anger.

You didn't separate a wizard or witch from their wand, regardless of if they had a record of breaking the rules of performing magic during the summer. You didn't separate a wizard or witch from their wand unless the Ministry was planning on snapping it for crimes committed.

"Aye. And there's something..." Moody stopped. Fully stopped. And suddenly clouds seemed to pass over the sun and a chill appeared in the summer day. "The boy..." He growled out. "There's traces of a mattress in the cupboard under the stairs."

"A mattress?" Amelia tried to puzzle out her old friend's anger. "Are you telling me that... that the savior of the Wizarding World, the Boy-Who-Lived, grew up in a _cupboard under the stairs_?"

Moody turned around, both his eyes meeting hers. "Aye lass. That's what it looks like."

XXX

Harry stared in awe at Hedwig. She looked so pretty, white wisps of color trailing behind her feathers like an endlessly sweeping mist.

She was healed. She was safe. She was alive. She wasn't leaving him. She was staying.

The magic curled inside of him, vibrating in response to Hedwig's gentle hoots. She could feel it too, the boiling churning magic singing through his body, her body. They were connected, they shared it between them, and for every soft hoot, she sang for him, and for every trembling sob of relief, he sang for her.

It would've been bizarre, but Harry's broken mind had stopped caring. Hedwig was safe, Hedwig was with him, that was all that mattered. Safe and more beautiful than ever.

Pearly white feathers slicing silently through the air, a body that seemed at times more mist than flesh, and eyes that seemed to pierce your very soul.

Harry didn't know it yet, but one day, when she finally decided to mimic the shape of a human, he would think forever of her as an angel.

She had magic, but it was the magic of a witch and wizard, rather than belonging to the strict rules of magic for a creature. She was an owl, that had magic. Magic that she should never be in possession of.

A wizard or witch followed a certain kind of logic, no matter how absurd and twisted. They followed the rules of their society because they couldn't truly go against their absolute nature as humans.

An owl didn't have that problem, for an owl thought in the terms of owls, and that was not something that could ever be explained in mere words. That was why magical creatures magic was the fixed magic of their species. A basilisk's eyes might kill at first sight, but it could never breathe fire like a dragon, nor travel through the flames like a phoenix.

But a wizards magic was never truly fixed, not really. It was simply their minds proving unable to comprehend instinctively the magic that flowed through them. Hedwig didn't have that problem. Her magic was the free magic of a wizard. And her mind was the pure mind of an owl.

Therefore, perhaps it wasn't surprising, that on that day, the great Lord Voldemort felt a shiver go down his spine.

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Story: [Time Traveling Draco]

Summary: Draco Malfoy wakes up one morning in a bed that isn't his own. He blames Harry.

Genre: Humor

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"Piss off Harry." Draco grumbled into his blanket, not really being in the mood for fighting, or doing anything except sleeping actually.

"Umm, who's Harry?" Harry's voice asked curiously.

"Go die in a ditch Potter." Draco elaborated on his previous statement.

"Oi, what the hell did I do?" Potter asked indignantly.

Draco wondered briefly if Harry had been dropped on the head repeatedly as a child, it would certainly explain a lot of things. His recklessness, his idiocy, his apparent obliviousness towards all of his own actions... Or maybe it was just that he kept allowing that Weasel-person to think _for_ him, everyone knew that poor people didn't have any sense.

Instead of attempting to explain to the idiot why he was angry at him, Draco made a rude gesture in the direction of the voice.

With Voldemort dead, Draco had grown... well, 'closer' didn't really feel right, but 'less distant' with the Potter heir. He owed him his life, and the life of his mother. He was forever in the idiot's debt, and so when the idiot approached him about things that all people should've known before they reached twelve, Draco had taken it upon himself to educate the idiot in the finer points in life, and politics.

Harry Potter was awful with politics. He had the clout to become the next Minister, if he actually knew what he was doing, but with the way he was going at it, he'd be lucky to remove a law that everyone already hated. He was _that_ bad at politics. It was kind of sad, yet funny at the same time.

Still, none of this allowed the bloody idiot to wake him up in the morning without first sacrificing at least a pot filled with coffee to him. Possibly more.

"I kind of like him, can we keep him?" Another voice joined Harry's, this one sounded quite amused.

"Shut up Pads." Harry's voice growled, annoyed.

"But what is he doing here?" A third voice spoke up, this one sounded... neutrally curious, really.

"Maybe he's a burglar!" Came a whining voice that made Draco wish for his wand, just so that he could hex him down a few octaves.

"That makes no sense, Peter." The neutral voice rejected the idea.

"Either bring me coffee, or shut up before I find my wand." Draco mumbled angrily into the pillow.

"See! He's threatening us! Clearly a burglar!" The whining voice appeared once again.

Draco snapped.

Having spent four years in a sort-of-friendship with Harry Potter, Draco had long since learned a lot of things that people shouldn't be forced to learn. Harry had a hair-trigger for combat that made it fully possible that he might kill you by accidental instincts if you threw a curse at his back, meaning that anyone close to him was forced to pick up quite a bit on how to fight if they didn't want him to break their arms because you tried to wake him up.

Draco didn't like having his arms broken, and had gotten so good at surviving Harry's defensive mechanisms that he'd been called the official wake-Harry-up-person, which in turn forced him to become even better.

The whining voice that dared disturb his rest by being ungodly annoying felt his wrath in the shape of a multitude of quite unpleasant hexes sent in his direction.

A startled squeak was followed by the voice of a confounded goat, before the sound of a leg-locked body hit the floor.

Having proven his point, and gotten rid of that horrible whining voice, Draco snuggled deeper into the blankets. "Now, piss off Harry, I had a long night."

"Whoa, he turned Peter into a goat. That is awesome." The voice belonging to 'Pads' murmured in reverent awe.

Draco's instincts tickled at him that someone was aiming their wand at him. Most likely several someones. Probably not the voice called Pads though, since he sounded a bit too amazed by Draco's inherent awesomeness to think of cursing him for doing what came naturally to him.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" Harry's voice demanded in that cold way that he usually did when confronted with a battle-situation.

Draco decided then and there that Harry must've been dropped on his head repeatedly as a child, nobody could get that stupid just from having their friends rub off on them.

"I'm Merlin, and I'm trying to sleep." Because everyone knew that the only reason Draco wasn't actually Merlin was because his father had thought that dragons were cooler. That, and he'd been in the wrong generation, but that was such a minor detail that it shouldn't really count.

"Merlin? Seriously?" Pads sounded amused again, though it was still mixed up with a certain admiration.

"Where's my coffee Potter?" Draco growled into the pillow, knowing that Harry should know well enough that he didn't start pissing him off _before_ he'd had his early morning coffee. And possibly his late morning coffee. And not just before it was time for his midday coffee, or his slightly after noon coffee, or any other of the sixteen different points in a day that he reserved for the glorious wonder that was coffee.

"Umm, maybe we should get him some coffee?" The neutral voice asked hesitantly, obviously being the sole voice of reason amongst them.

"I'll get it." Pads cheerfully bounced out of the room.

"How do you know my name?" Harry's voice demanded angrily.

"Did you get run over by a hippogriff recently?" Draco drawled sarcastically into the soft warmth to which he longed to return. "It's called introducing yourself. You should try it some time."

There was the short silence that Draco was certain was filled with Harry glaring daggers at him. "My name is James Potter."

Draco hummed sleepily, before stopping with a sudden jerk.

"No it isn't." He paused, he couldn't remember Harry ever trying to avoid using his own name, or avoid using it without also avoiding his surname, what with being the last Potter, doing so would've been quite silly.

"Yes it is!" Harry's voice spluttered angrily.

Draco took a slow breath as he attempted to avoid falling into childish squabbling – it was beneath him – and tried to make sense of his current situation.

He had been sleeping. Then he'd been woken up by someone who didn't know him and called himself James Potter.

Where had he gone to bed, anyways?

"Ginny's a tart." He tried, knowing that that particular insult would cause Harry to at least attempt to hex him a _little_.

"Who's Ginny?" Harry's voice asked in a confused manner.

Right, definitely not Harry then. That left... what exactly? The only James Potter that he knew of was the idiot's father, and he'd died twenty years ago, not to mention that this one sounded much too young to be that James. Unless time traveling or something was included.

Draco was just about to bark a laugh at how mindbogglingly silly the thought of time travel was when he remembered that Sirius Black had been called Padfoot, that Peter Pettigrew was supposed to have a very whiny voice, and that Remus Lupin was the voice of reason in a group called the Marauders.

Draco instead made a pained whimpering noise. "This can't be right, this is _Harry's_ luck, things like this don't happen to _normal_ people." He complained.

XXX

Draco glared at the four boys that stood in front of him. The boys that somehow looked his own age, which was very odd considering how he was in his mid-twenties. Not quite as odd as spontaneous time travel over a span of almost four decades, but still pretty damn odd.

He had been given coffee, so he was now willing enough to accept his wakefulness that he could confront the idiots in front of him.

Hell, he'd even reversed Pettigrew's goat-transformation. Never let it be said that Draco Malfoy couldn't pretend not to be an utter bastard for longer than two hours. He'd managed three, once, when he'd been too busy chugging coffee to truly interact with his surroundings.

Still, he appeared to have introduced himself as 'Merlin', so now he was stuck with that name, which wasn't really all that bad. Imagine being stuck with a name like 'Ronald', or 'Percival'... Actually, now that he thought about it, had their mother in fact been torturing them since the cradle? Poor sods.

Heh. Shouldn't have been born Weasels. Suckers.

Suppressing the need to smirk victoriously for being so much better than everyone else, Draco tried to think of what to do next.

He didn't know of any way that he might return to his own time, so he was most likely stuck here. If accidentally brushing into contact with the walking library that was Granger had taught him anything, time flowed in a multitude of options, and since his existence in this point of time hadn't been around last time this time had happened, Draco was guessing that even if he killed everyone in the room he wouldn't suddenly cease to exist by shattering the fabric of space and time.

Basically, he was most likely in a parallel universe, back in time, with a Dark Lord still running around making an ass of himself, and he was very unlikely to have any access to his Gringotts vault. Which meant that... dear Caffeinated Glory, he'd have to rely on _charity_.

Unable to repress the instinctive shiver of revulsion that coursed through him at that thought, Draco tried to focus on more pleasant things.

"Are you just going to stare, or are you going to explain to me where I am? Who you are? Why I'm here? And how I'm going to manage returning to where I was so that I may kill Harry very, very dead for letting his luck rub off on me?" Draco asked in a reasonable tone.

"Where did you come from?" Asked Remus Lupin.

"My bedroom." Draco sipped on his coffee, smug in the knowledge that he was at the very least annoying someone.

"You're in Hogwarts, I'm Sirius Black, that's Remus Lupin, this is James Potter, and that's Peter Pettigrew." Sirius gestured with a cheerful grin, still obviously amused by Draco's previous actions.

"Who is this Harry that you want to kill?" James asked warily, still not entirely comfortable about the Boy-Who-Showed-Up-In-Their-Dorm-And-Demanded-Coffee.

Draco could be hyphenated too! Hah! Take that Potter!

"Harry Potter." He admitted without hesitation. "Might possibly be a relative of yours, orphan, possessor of the kind of luck only a madman would put themselves in front of, and determined to a fault." He paused, thinking for a moment. "He was dumped on relatives who hated him, became famous without having anyone tell him how to use his fame, had to kill a teacher in self-defense when he was eleven, was poisoned and stabbed at twelve, got involved with Dementors at thirteen, faced a dragon at fourteen, led a rescue mission that failed at fifteen, had his mentor-figure killed in front of him at sixteen, and died once when he was seventeen."

Everyone gaped at him.

"It sounds horrible, and it really kind of is, but it should be noted that he actually managed to _survive_ all that, which is really kind of impressive." Draco mused absently. "He really should've done something about his hair though... dreadful." He frowned in distaste. "I swear there was no difference from how he looked after waking up to how he looked when he went to bed. He wouldn't know style if it went up and smacked him over the head with a very heavy book."

"A very heavy book?" James asked with an obvious hesitation on his simile.

"His closest friend is a bibliophilic do-gooder with the Frizzy Hair of Doom." He shivered. "It's like they became friends solely due to their bad hairdos." He sighed before smirking. "On the plus side, she's got one hell of a right hook. And a fantastic way with the ladies." His smirk turned into a very distinct leer that had sent the Weasel off on a hexing-spree more than once.

Hermione and Ron's relationship had crashed and burned in one of the most spectacular real life dramas in recent history. There had been Ron sleeping with another witch, there had been Hermione being found in bed with the Patil twins, there had been Ron trying to claim that the marriage was still on, there had been Hermione that had snogged Luna Lovegood in public.

It was almost enough to distract the world from how Harry and Ginny's relationship had gone to hell once they'd both seen pictures of themselves mixed with his parents, and realized that Oedipus complexes weren't meant to be encouraged. They were still decent friends though.

All of this had led to Draco taking over as Harry's wake-up-er, which had sent off another scandal about how he was so often seen in the company of the Man-Who-Won during the early mornings. This scandal had been heavily encouraged by all the times that Draco had barely been awake himself, and had ended up stealing Harry's blanket, a mug of coffee, and kicked Harry out of his recently-claimed bed to sleep on the floor.

It had gotten so bad that the Daily Prophet had been forced to start reporting facts and shove all of the scandals into a separate newspaper.

Needless to say, the Daily Scandal – as it was so fondly nicknamed – quickly came to be regarded with a bucket of salt, which in turn meant that people learned not to take everything they read as facts whilst still allowing the Daily Prophet to reap massive profits.

It was the best of two worlds, no matter what Granger had to say about it.

Turns out that Hermione Granger was the luckiest girl to ever finish Hogwarts. Luna and the Patil twins being the more spectacular members of the harem she'd formed, there'd been rumors of several others attempting to make their way into it, and she'd been permanently banned from showing up at the Harpies' matches as everyone feared what her sexual aura would do to the popular idols. No girl was too straight for Granger. It had actually been claimed to be a law of magic, even if it didn't get a lot of supporters.

Sighing distractedly at the memory of Harry's birthday party, and the amount of girls that had showed up on Hermione's arms, Draco wondered if he should try to seduce her mother and keep her from being born, just to make sure that the rest of the Wizarding population wouldn't have to fight tooth and nail for the very few girls that didn't join her.

He quickly dismissed the thought, as that meant seducing a muggle, and whilst Draco could hardly be called racist by the people who knew him – he'd spent too much time admiring Hermione's way with girls to buy into the pureblood agenda – he did still have some standards.

Funnily enough, he'd managed to phrase those standards in such a way at one point, that Harry refused to change in the same room as him anymore. Saying something about not being comfortable being half-naked around him.

Draco had of course responded to such a obvious insult by stripping him of _all_ clothes and dumping him in the middle of Diagon Alley, without a wand. He'd then claimed it'd been a 'lover's quarrel', and Harry had finally got in the game by forcing him to reclaim his precious coffee by visiting Gringotts dressed in drag.

They'd continued to prank each other on and off, and Harry had after almost three years finally stopped responding to Draco's attempts of waking him up with lethal force but rather whining, foul language, and hexing of his hair.

Draco blinked, realizing that he'd completely lost track of the conversation.

"So his closest friend is a girl, who likes other girls and books?" Remus asked hesitantly.

"Pretty much." Draco nodded. "She's supposedly very talented with her tongue. And I heard that she played the piano as a child. Turns out size doesn't matter so much when you have the talent of a sex god."

"That's..." Remus paused, staring dazedly into the distance. "Give me a moment."

James raised an eyebrow at his friend, looking distinctly confused, whilst Sirius seemed to be torn between demanding details, making fun of Remus, and dreaming his way off into a library filled with sexy girls with talented tongues.

Draco could relate.

XXX


	2. Serious Veil Time

Serious Veil Time

**Summary: Harry follows Sirius through the Veil, ends up back in the past with the Marauders along with his godfather. Hijinks and stupidity.**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

XXX

Harry was very much aware that he wasn't the most sensible of people. He had an unfortunate tendency to jump into things without preparing for it. In fact, he'd once gone down into the Chamber of Secrets to fight a basilisk, without first stopping by his Transfiguration teacher and asking her to make him a cockerel, going instead to ask help from the man who he'd already believed to be just as useless as he really was.

With that in mind, it shouldn't be surprising that when Sirius Black, his godfather, as well as his only real hope of living with a loving family, fell through the Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries, that Harry Potter, terminally-reckless-and-with-no-regards-for-his-own-life Boy Hero, followed him.

That's right. When Sirius fell through the Veil, Harry Potter followed him before he'd even had a chance to register what he was actually doing.

Fortunately, the Veil of Death, was mostly named such because nothing ever came back out. The Veil was however, completely unrelated to Death.

Which was a bit of a shame, because for a millisecond he'd been looking forward to seeing his parents again. But, at the same time, it was fortunate, because it meant that after a very, very, _very – _he really couldn't stress this enough – uncomfortable ride, Harry James Potter, savior of the Wizarding World, was spat back out.

Straight into the back of his godfather, who'd just managed to get up on his knees, causing them both to crash into a very undignified heap on the floor.

Harry looked up at the ceiling that looked a lot like the ceiling in the Department of Mysteries, and sneaked a glance at the Veil of Death standing some way away. Once satisfied that they really were still there, Harry leapt up to kill Bellatrix for being the culprit behind that horrible, _horrible_ experience.

Only to find that she wasn't there.

Actually, nobody was there, and there were no signs of the battle either.

Now feeling quite cautious about the situation, Harry did the sensible thing.

"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." He quoted a movie.

XXX

After having spent a disturbingly long time trying to explain the Wizard of Oz to Sirius, the two of them had set off to find where exactly they'd landed.

Turns out they'd gone back in time. But, after a brief discussion that gave Harry a headache and left Sirius smirking in victory, they concluded that if they really had gone back in time, there was not only no way back – the Veil didn't count since both of them had more or less sworn Wizard's Oaths never to jump or fall through it ever again – but that they must've broken so many laws on how time-travel worked, that they could probably conclude that they were in a different dimension.

Thankfully for Harry who didn't understand the difference, Sirius basically stated themselves to be Paradox Free, meaning that if they went out and made sure that Harry was never born, it wouldn't matter since it would be the non-birth of a different Harry.

Once that had been agreed upon, they realized that neither of them had had the foresight to bring any actual cash along with them, meaning that they were penniless and stranded in a strange new world.

Sirius did the adult thing and panicked helplessly, mumbling about how he couldn't even steal his own money since he hadn't inherited anything yet. And Harry found himself watching his godfather's nervous despair with something akin to morbid fascination.

That's how the Unspeakables found them.

It took them several hours before it was finally decided that they were of no threat. Even sadder was that Harry couldn't tell them anything about Voldemort that they didn't already know – only a note to keep an eye out for a diary signed to a T.M. Riddle – but once that was all done, they were both given new identities.

Sirius had given up his last name in a way that reminded his godson a lot of the phrase 'hot potato', and they'd both decided to be classified as uncle and nephew, with the wonderful name of Velare – Italian for 'veil'.

There were a lot of jokes surrounding their new family name, and of course a few 'serious' jokes slipped in as well. But, finally, the Unspeakables were gracious enough to find them a place to live for the time being. They also managed to write in Harry into Hogwarts, once they found out that he had been doing his OWLs in his old world.

Sirius was given an appointment with St Mungos once his time in Azkaban came to light. And the Unspeakables gave their word to keep an eye out to make sure that being sent there without a trial would never happen to anyone else.

XXX

As Harry stood at Platform 9 ¾ at September the 1st he realized for the first time in his life that whilst this was his chance at meeting his parents, he'd probably be at least a little bit homesick.

Sirius seemed thrilled once he mentioned that out loud, but spared his godson a bone-crushing hug on account of him being 16 now, and everyone knowing that teenagers didn't want to be hugged in public.

Of course, that didn't mean that he didn't sling his arm around his shoulders, tell him to write, give him a few last minute tips on getting girls, mentioned 'accidentally' in passing for the fifteenth time exactly where he could get his hands on alcohol, and told him that fights were perfectly fine but that if he ever considered even for a moment that it'd be a good idea to put his life on the line with his 'saving people thing' then Sirius would be forced to pee on him.

This was met with quite a few disturbed glances from the surrounding crowd, until Sirius turned into a very big dog and happily began slobbering all over Harry's face.

With an outraged cry of disgust, some laughter, a brief hug goodbye, and vicious use of a water gun he'd picked up as a souvenir, Harry made his way onto the train.

They weren't worried about either of them being recognized, partly because apparently someone had managed to change the color of Padfoot's fur to a slightly beige variant, and partly because Sirius' hair was that same color, with Harry's enthusiastic spikes still somehow resisting anything they threw at them until they turned out a very distinguished looking gray.

Sirius had laughed a lot about that, saying that it was because he worried too much about things. And Harry had responded by turning all of his godfather's underwear pink.

It had easily been the best summer of Harry's life.

Now came the big question of what to do. Was he supposed to try and locate the Marauders? Or his mother? Or just grab a random seat and keep his head down until the Sorting? Or make friends with other random people? Or get into a fight with Snivellus? Or get into a fight with someone else? Or talk a bit with Regulus Black in an attempt to woo him away from snake-face?

With a final shrug, Harry grabbed a random seat in an empty car. He'd have to play it by ear, which was really what he did best.

By the time another face peeked into his compartment, Harry was well on his way through his Defense textbook.

"Are you new?" Came the slightly confused voice of one Lily Evans.

Harry looked up into the same green eyes he'd inherited and felt his breath hitch as he bit back the tears of hearing his mother's peaceful voice.

Naturally, he'd been preparing for this, and with little enough reaction to be classified as a bit jumpy and nothing else, Harry smiled at her.

"Yeah, I was home schooled, but my uncle figured that I needed to get out more." He shrugged. "Something about having too much time on my hands since I was busying myself with dyeing his underwear pink."

Lily blinked, clearly startled by this random confession of pranking, but quickly regained her wits.

"So, you live with your uncle?" Came the hesitant question.

"Yeah." He smiled brightly. "He's a complete nutter, and he seems to be telling me to get laid far too often, but he's a good guy. Even if he did once eat my shoes."

"He ate your shoes?" She was looking at him like he was crazy for some reason.

"He's a dog animagi, and he does a lot of annoying things, like lick my face to wake me up, pee in my socks drawer as revenge..." He trailed off, shaking his head sadly. "Personally, I think _he's_ the one who needs to get laid, but his nurse is very insistent that he shouldn't get involved in too much emotional stuff right now."

"His nurse?" Now she looked worried.

"Umm, he was exposed to Dementors a bit too much, and now they're slightly worried about the impact on his psyche, or something." He shrugged. "Or his nurse is trying to get into his pants and doesn't want anyone else to get him first. Whichever, really."

Lily clearly didn't know how to respond to this dismissal attitude towards Dementor exposure, having heard a lot about just how horrible they really were, so Harry decided to help her along.

"By the way, my name's Harry. Harry Velare."

"Lily Evans." She smiled, and held out her hand, which he promptly shook, much to her delight.

They carried on, conversing lightly about various subjects, as the train finally began to move.

As they discussed schoolwork, Harry freely admitted that he was pretty much rubbish at Potions, and that he was surprisingly skilled at Defense, despite complications with finding decent teachers on the subject. Lily, in return, volunteered to help him with Potions in return for help with Defense, to which he readily agreed.

And it was at this point in their conversation that another person finally located their compartment.

"Ah, Evans." James smiled brightly at her, completely ignoring the gray-haired new person sharing the compartment – he was, after all, not important.

"Potter." Came the icy tones from the young witch in response, clearly showing off just how pleased she was to see him.

Now, a part of Harry was delirious with joy at seeing both his parents at the same time, another part was writhing in horror as they were _arguing_, and the final part of him was vaguely amused by the entire spectacle.

"Oh, and who might you be?" Came the curious question from a grinning idiot who'd just appeared behind the Potter Heir.

Suppressing the urge to laugh at the thought of Sirius meeting Sirius, Harry did his best to answer this surprisingly polite question – surprisingly, because _everyone_ knew that Sirius had no manners.

"Harry Velare. Transfer student. I used to be home schooled, but my uncle didn't want me in the house with too much time on my hands." He shook his head remorsefully. "I swear, you sneak polyjuice into his food _one_ time, and he never lets you live it down."

The Marauders, who'd by now all entered into the compartment so that they could gawk equally over the new student, stared at him in a mixture of confusion and awe.

"You snuck polyjuice into his food?" Lily sounded somewhat outraged at the prospect.

"He ate my shoes! He damn well deserved it!" Harry protested, perhaps slightly too vehemently.

"Your shoes?" By now even Remus looked disturbed.

"He's a dog animagi." He explained exasperatedly.

"What was the polyjuice of?" Sirius finally interrupted, wanting to now the important thing.

"Hm? Oh, I stole a hair from some random muggle girl off the street." Now Lily looked quite outraged indeed, so he hurried to add. "It's not like he'd have done anything about it, it only sticks for an hour, and with the exception of poking himself in the chest once, he spent the rest of that hour, plus another three, chasing me throughout the house."

Lily looked somewhat mollified, but was still looking annoyed at his casualness towards pranks.

"So, who are you four?" He decided to divert the attention away from his and his godfather's prank wars.

"James Potter." Came the joyously smug voice of Prongs, as he pulled his fingers through his hair in a way that really was quite ridiculous.

"Sirius Black." Who seemed like his family name was very disgusting to taste on his tongue – Harry could relate, he only needed to think of introducing himself as 'Harry Dursley' and suddenly he was feeling a distinct urge to retch.

"Remus Lupin." Was the calm and polite answer from the Marauders' Voice of Reason.

"Peter Pettigrew." Squeaked the rat, not wanting to be forgotten.

"And I guess that means everyone knows everyone. Great. Did I mention that my uncle promised that if I get expelled for a prank that was actually funny, he'll buy me a new broom?"

"Why would he-...?" Lily decided to voice the question they all wanted to ask.

"I guess he figured that I might go crazy or something, so he made sure that I knew that the only way to escape from Hogwarts was to make a funny prank that would get me expelled. He's always loved his odd little schemes..." He explained fondly.

The Marauders quickly found themselves in awe at the strangeness of Harry's uncle, and once they heard that he apparently made the same 'serious' jokes about his name as their very own Padfoot, they decided that they'd have to meet him sometime. Nobody who loved pranks enough to teach his nephew about it, despite knowing he'd be the victim for these pranks, could possibly be evil.

Lily was still peeved at losing her partner in schoolwork-talk, but Harry made sure to drag her into the conversation, and sternly pointing out to the Marauders that there's a very fine line between pranking and bullying, and that as the sacred trade that pranking was, it was a line that was truly never meant to be crossed.

Remus was quite pleased with this lecture, as it seemed to finally be driving home something he'd been trying to tell his friends for quite some time now.

The trip left Harry feeling oddly off though, and it took him until he was standing on the platform at Hogsmeade to realize what the reason was.

Draco Malfoy never showed up to taunt him.

Considering this odd revelation for a bit, Harry concluded that it was an oddity he could learn to live with.

XXX

"And now, we have a transfer student that's joining us for his fifth year of school." Albus explained to the curious Great Hall.

"Velare, Harry." Read McGonagall, beckoning him forward.

The Hat looked just as old as it had always done, which really only proved how fantastically ancient it must've been for decades to not even be able to make an impact on it.

_"Well... this is a tad unusual."_

_ Really? I thought it happened all the time._

_ "Try to be seriou-... No, don't say it. Those jokes were old long before your godfather was born, young man. But I suppose we should get to Sorting you."_

_ Not Ravenclaw._

_ "Ah, yes. Not a House for you... Hufflepuff, perhaps? It takes a special kind of loyalty to throw yourself through the Veil of Death, just to follow in the footsteps of a loved one."_

_ Yeah, well, actually that's..._

_ "More of a Gryffindor thing, never thinking things through. Yes, much recklessness in your life. An auror would perhaps be a good line of work. Always following orders without hesitation, throwing yourself into harms way for people who will never appreciate what you do for them."_

_ You know... Saying it like that, I'd think you're trying to discourage me from that, for some reason._

_ "Now why would I do such a thing? It's not my place to tell a student what job to pick. I'm merely calling it as I'm seeing it."_

_ And you're seeing me getting into danger for the sake of others, without getting anything for it, and probably being blamed for everything that might go wrong?_

_ "Well, doesn't it seem much like a trend in your life?"_

_ That's-... You're just-..._

_ "Sorry, but being a parselmouth really isn't all that it's hyped up to be. After all, it's merely a language. And even if you could speak a language for creatures of unspeakable evil, it wouldn't make you evil."_

_ Yeah, well, try explaining that to the Wizarding World._

_ "Ah yes. Common sense. They really are lacking in that. Now, let's return to the Sorting, shall we? Hmm... Not Hufflepuff, you wouldn't be comfortable around so many others. Slytherin perhaps? Or do you still insist like the last time you were Sorted?"_

_ I-... I honestly don't know. I don't want to end up in Death Eater boot-camp, but Sirius asked me to keep an eye on his brother. On the other hand, I'm not sure how I'd handle being alone with Wormtail, possibly without witnesses._

_ "Ah, but you're actually learning, and paying attention. You're quite mature, even for those of your age. Perhaps Gryffindor and it's stubborn righteousness is not for you?"_

_ I still hate Snape?_

_ "With good reason! A teacher like that? He should've been thrown off the Astronomy tower. Belittling generations of witches and wizards, driving them away from his own subject, and then having the gall to call himself a teacher! But I digress... Let's see, Gryffindor will let you see your parents."_

_ I know._

_ "And you both fear and long for it. Yes, I can see the difficulty. Not very Gryffindorish of you, trying to avoid that which you fear."_

_ What would I gain? They're not **my parents**. Not yet, nor will they ever be. Not even if they give birth to a boy named Harry Potter. They're not **mine**._

_ "Very well. Do you perhaps have a purpose?"_

_ No. I just want to live. To be free from this damn war, and Voldemort._

_ "Ah, a survivor. More that than hero, I think. True, there is a desire to help, but the longing for freedom dwarfs it all."_

_ What are you talking about?_

_ "Nothing in particular. Most who put me on seek acknowledgment in some form. Rare, indeed are those who seek to simply be free. They happen, those oppressed by their families, those who long to escape into the school."_

_ So, I'm special again?_

_ "Not nearly as special as you already were, do not worry about it. So, as always, it comes down to a choice. Slytherin, or Gryffindor? Cunning and ambition, or righteous recklessness?"_

_ I'm a prankster?_

_ "Indeed, you are, Harry Velare. I wish you luck in_ SLYTHERIN!"

The Marauders all seemed a bit put-out at their potential new friend ending up in the House they hated, and even Lily looked a bit uncertain.

That is, until Harry removed the Hat, got to his feet, and declared towards the heavens.

"First rule of Pranking: Don't get caught! Second rule of Pranking: Don't be a bully! Third rule of Pranking: Don't discriminate! Fourth rule of Pranking: Always aim for the untouchables! Thus the Prankster's Motto: Be polite, be efficient, and have a plan to prank everyone you meet! Thank you." And with a bow at the very confused and very surprised crowd, Harry Velare took his seat at the Slytherin table.

XXX

Slytherin wasn't sure what to think of Harry Velare.

One one hand, his uncle was a wizard, so he wasn't a muggleborn, and he knew enough of the pure-blood traditions that they didn't find his behavior offensive – thanks to Sirius and his 'school of boring but useful stuff for scoring with girls'. But on the other hand, he seemed more interested in pranking people than he was about the war, or the ministry, or schoolwork.

The fact that he'd more or less forcibly befriended both Regulus Black – who seemed both annoyed and amused by this – and Severus Snape – who he'd actually gotten to use shampoo after reading to him endless stories about girls wanting to pull their fingers through boys' hair – just made everyone all that much more confused.

In the end though, they were brightening.

Slytherin was in many cases the House for those shunned by others, those with a thirst to prove themselves worthy.

They weren't _evil_. They were _bigoted_, but then, considering their education, they were basically told that muggles were completely worthless. And that prejudice wasn't really solved with the first-hand accounts of half-bloods, because most of them didn't really have a happy childhood, and in many cases that was their parents' fault.

Basically, they were told by their own parents that muggles were useless. Muggleborns were utterly offensive to most of, if not all of, their traditions. And the half-bloods of their House, told them how happy they were to get the hell away from their homes.

No wonder Slytherin was filled with bigots when muggles had credentials like that.

Regardless, Harry Velare had no real pull on his House. He had no money to speak of, he avoided speaking of his heritage enough to make everyone sure that he wasn't as pure-blooded as some of them, and he really didn't have a lot to bargain with. But Harry Velare was _happy_. He would laugh with Gryffindors, follow Filch around and try to get him to laugh – or get him laid, whichever came first – annoy Ravenclaws by bringing up random subjects that they'd never heard of before, have long talks with Hagrid about dangerous creatures, try to get one of the Hufflepuffs to teach him how to juggle, and just generally having a grand time.

Slytherin had been preparing itself for going out into war, and now they were given the chance at being kids.

Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, was very intrigued by this recent addition to the House of snakes. Mostly because he seemed to be dragging the carpet out from underneath Voldemort's support-base, but also because he seemed more concerned about making everyone play nice with each other than he was of schoolwork.

The Marauders were actually seen backing off from Slytherin, and their bullying of Snape had completely ceased. Several Slytherins were very slowly, and very tentatively reaching out to the other Houses, most of these being First Years, but some of them being older than that. Ravenclaws were researching things about how the muggle-world truly worked, and quickly coming to the frustrating conclusion that interviewing the muggleborns was much more cost-efficient and truthful than asking their muggle-studies _teacher_. Hufflepuffs were leading the charge at socializing between Houses. And Gryffindor was being smacked over the head until they started to think through just how prejudiced many of their own members were against things like 'being in Slytherin' or a number of other things.

And all of this was being done by a Slytherin who was pranking them all.

Harry Velare had a friendship mixed with rivalry between himself and the Marauders of Gryffindor, he'd been annoying Regulus Black with his presence until the boy simply didn't bother with brushing him off, and he'd been getting closer to a grease-free Severus Snape.

In the end, whilst Slytherin had been unsure of what they should be doing with him. Harry had been spreading so many seeds in every which way, that once they began to react, they couldn't really stop him.

Slytherin had been divided. Those who would support Voldemort's agenda, despite better options that were available. And those who'd rather just be a Hogwarts student like everyone else.

It wasn't really until this moment that most of the teachers began to realize to just what extent they'd been driving the Slytherins into a corner. Most of those who now did were horrified by their own reactions, and some of those began to wonder just why this had happened, how it could've gone this far.

So, Ravenclaws were starting to question the pure-blooded views of their society, because they were given teachers who didn't understand anything. Slytherins were cutting loose – as much as a kid with ambition and a strict upbringing allows themselves to cut loose. Gryffindors were beginning to settle back down from its rivalry with Slytherin, with Sirius somehow ending up as the poster-boy for the non-discrimination after it came out that he'd lost his virginity to one of the snakes. Hufflepuffs were happily spreading out across the school like a friendly blanket. And the teachers were left wondering about the advantages and disadvantages about the House system.

Grinning happily at the chaos that followed in his footsteps, Harry sat down next to a Severus who smelled pleasantly clean, and who was actually smiling about something Regulus was saying.

Regulus might be the one who'd been told to uphold the family name of the Blacks, since his brother was a disgrace, and he might've been quite upset at his brother for betraying the family so easily. But, well, his parents had never told him that he wasn't allowed to make friends with other Slytherins.

Harry was still somewhat awed at the ease at which he'd more or less turned Hogwarts upside-down. He'd talked about muggles with Ravenclaws. He'd been cheerful in the Slytherin common room, quickly wooing the uncertain First Years to his side. He'd started a friendly prank war with the Marauders. He'd made an effort to talk to the Hufflepuffs. And suddenly it'd all exploded.

It was, quite possible, the most awesome thing he'd ever done. And he'd reflected a Killing Curse at the age of one, fought a basilisk when he was twelve, driven off a hundred Dementors at thirteen, participated in a dangerous tournament and won at age of fourteen, and attacked the Department of Mysteries and then traveled back in time to an alternative universe all at the age of fifteen. He was now sixteen.

Maybe he should consider retiring?

Nah. Too many pranks still left to pull.

XXX

**A/n: At this point in time, I was torn between either calling it a very sudden end, or turning it into some kind of pairing with this situation as background.**

**I couldn't think of any pairing except Harry/Sirius, which would've made everything confusing and awkward and hilarious, but I couldn't think of any way to start it. So it's finished.**

**Below is something I thought might've been fun to have in the future.**

XXX

"You framed Gilderoy Lockhart for killing Voldemort." Sirius stated flatly. "You then bribed and threatened him into becoming responsible with his newfound fame, whilst at the same time securing his livelihood for the rest of his life."

"Yeah, pretty much." Harry nodded before taking a bite out of his breakfast toast.

"Damn. That's just-... I-I suppose I'll have to owe you my firstborn for this." Sirius admitted reluctantly.

"Just name me its godfather and we'll call it even." Harry grinned at him.


	3. Harry Super Senses

Harry Super Senses

**Summary: Fourth Year, after the Third Task, Harry reacts peculiarly to the Crucio-exposure. Really peculiarly.**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

XXX

Harry woke up to the sound of someone pounding on the door.

It was early morning, if the light was anything to go by, and he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. This meant that it was very strange for someone to be pounding on a door in his vicinity, but he shrugged the thought off. Maybe someone was in desperate need of Madam Pomfrey? It would most likely not be the first time that it'd happened at this early hour.

Taking a breath that seemed to echo inside of the empty room, Harry pushed himself into a sitting position. He wasn't sure why he was here, his head still feeling quite fuzzy about it all, or how he'd gotten hurt, or what day it was, but he wasn't in excruciating agony so he was probably safe to be moving. Possibly.

His limbs didn't complain as they would've had he been sent there with broken bones, so it was unlikely that it was a Quidditch related injury. That left... basilisk, hexes, Voldemort, Death Eaters, and random illness.

Knowing his luck, he was guessing on Voldemort.

Speaking of which, had he ever actually been ill since he was introduced to the Wizarding World? He had vague memories of being ill during his time at the Dursleys, but that might've just been starvation. Maybe he was just really healthy? That would certainly explain why his luck believed that he should encounter so many life-threatening situations. It was a way of compensating for its inability to leave him bedridden for days due to more mundane issues.

Frowning slightly as he pondered this newfound revelation, Harry swung his feet over the side of the bed, just as someone began playing around with super-sized sandpapers – or at least that's what it sounded like. His frown deepening at the oddity of sandpaper being used at Hogwarts, Harry stood up, with a deafening bang.

His feet hit the floor, and the sound of an explosion startled him into falling back on the bed. Which responded with the sound of super-sized sandpapers.

Harry was now confused. But he had a theory. A very silly theory, hopefully, but a theory that he really should get around to testing.

"Ah." He breathed, and screamed in his own ear.

Jumping at the pain of the sudden noise, Harry whimpered very very silently, and was left wondering who'd invited the whimpering Cerberus into the infirmary.

His theory had been proven accurate, much to his horror. His hearing had somehow been thrown completely out of whack. The pounding on the door was his heartbeat, the sandpapers was the rustling of his sheets, and the explosion was his feet hitting the ground.

For the first time in Harry Potter's life, he really wished he'd woken up deaf.

And as he lay there, he chanced a glance out the window, and saw the stars.

So, apparently, whatever had screwed up his hearing to the painful extremes, it'd also given him the ability to read in starlight.

Considering the amount of pain he was in as he suffered from sound, he really wasn't looking forward to daybreak and suffering from light as well.

Hopefully, these two senses were the only ones that would be driving him mad. He could probably Transfigure some kind of sunglasses to use against the brightness that would come, and he could...

Earplugs. He needed earplugs.

Unfortunately, he didn't have any earplugs currently available, so he would be needing his wand, and then spend some time experimenting to get them right.

Sighing heavily – and ignoring the sound of giant bellows filling the room – Harry set to work.

XXX

Madam Pomfrey stumbled into her workplace along with the Headmaster, not really sure if she was hoping or not hoping that Mr Potter had woken up yet.

She didn't want the Headmaster to interrogate one of her patients, but she really was hoping that the young man was recovering properly.

Of course, most thoughts came to a halt when she finally spotted him.

Black glasses covering his eyes, strange shapes emerging from his ears. The young man winced at their entrance, but seemed to calm down quickly.

"Mr Potter?" She inquired.  
"Harry?" Albus asked curiously.

Harry whimpered softly, curling into a ball at their voices, his hands clutching at his ears.

Gesturing for Albus to be quiet, Pomfrey opened her mouth again, much more quietly this time. "Mr Potter? Is there something wrong with your ears?"

The young man still winced briefly at her words, but nodded slowly.

Pomfrey frowned. That wasn't good. She wasn't sure what it meant that her patient's ears would hurt, or why he'd felt it necessary to...

"Mr Potter, what is wrong with your eyes?"

"Too bright." He answered very quietly. "Starlight was early morning, morning was like staring into the sun."

She'd never heard of such a thing, but she was a professional. "And your glasses?"

He paused, his lips twitching briefly at the first hint of a smile. "Don't need them."

"I see."

And she did see. Somehow, the young man's nerves must've been overcharged with the Cruciatus Curse, which would normally leave him very numb and very much in pain, but instead of that happening, his body must've fought it off like a disease, and the magical backlash of that confrontation seemed to have made a few of his senses hypersensitive.

"Is there anything else? Touch, taste, smell?"

He shook his head. "No, touch is normal, smell is normal..." He paused, then put his finger in his mouth. "Taste seems normal too."

It was peculiar, talking to someone who's eyes you couldn't see, but it was obvious that he was in need of them if he'd thought that the early morning light had been like staring into a sun. His eyes wouldn't have been able to handle the sunrise.

"Where did you find those black glasses, and what have you put in your ears?" She finally asked, still using her most professional voice.

"Sunglasses, a muggle thing. And I tried to make muggle earplugs, but they didn't seem to turn out quite right..." He shrugged. "They kind of work anyway, and it's better than being unable to talk without feeling pain."

Pomfrey nodded, accepting his answer. "A sensible action, Mr Potter, though I don't approve of wand-waving whilst you are bedridden. If you would describe the use of these muggle devices, I'm sure we can find someone capable of making a few for your use."

"How did I get here anyway?" He finally asked.

"Harry my boy, you don't remember?" Albus finally reminded them of his presence.

The young man shook his head, turning towards the Headmaster for an answer.

"The Triwizard cup was a portkey, and you returned with news of Voldemort's resurrection." Albus informed him carefully, obviously hesitant at poking on new wounds.

"Triwizard?" Harry tilted his head. "What's-... a dragon? I out-flew a dragon." He mused with a hint of horrified awe in his voice. "What the hell was I thinking?"

Albus' chuckle at the young man's words was quickly disguised with a cough, before worry took over his expression. "That was the First Task, Harry. You completed the Third yesterday. A maze." He tried to nudge the disoriented student's memory.

"I'm sorry sir, I can't remember any maze..." He frowned. "My head is fuzzy."

Both adults present frowned at that, not very pleased with the news that it was fully possible that Harry James Potter suffered from amnesia. Pomfrey because it was another symptom of whatever had happened to her patient, and Albus because it meant that his chief witness no longer had any memory of the event.

XXX

Harry was a bit worried at how he didn't seem to remember a Second Task, let alone a Third. If the the Tasks were designed to last through the entire year – which they were – then his last memory seemed to be located almost six months ago.

He'd just lost six months of schoolwork, and apparently Voldemort had come back to life.

All of this added up to the absolute certainty that he would be needing to study a lot more than he was willing to. Partly to catch up to wherever his year-mates were right now, and partly to keep himself alive when Voldemort finally decided to try and hunt him down.

It wasn't that he believed that Voldemort had to pay attention to him, but rather it was the knowledge that the wizard was insane, uncomfortably focused on Harry's existence, and liable to kill people for little to no reason. The odds of the Dark Lord not holding a grudge over being banished for over a decade were very very slim, no matter how accidental it might've been.

Therefore, he would be needing to study. And...

"Sir? Would it be possible for me _not_ to return to my relatives this year? I'm not sure how they'd react to this." He made a gesture to his glasses and the things sticking out of his ears.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to shoot down that line of thought, because he would need his mother's protection, but Pomfrey interrupted him.

"You will not be leaving my care until we have made certain that your condition will not worsen." She declared with the heated and tempered steel of a woman that really wasn't afraid of beating in an old man's head with a bedpan if he disagreed with her – she'd heal him afterwards, slowly enough that he would only just be back to normal by the end of summer.

Dumbledore closed his mouth, he knew when to cut his losses.

Harry nodded, a smile finding its way onto his lips that made something buried deep in the old man's subconscious twitch.

It was not the smile of a muggleborn believing that they could be spending their summer playing with magic, and exploring Hogwarts, it was the smile of someone who'd just watched someone remove the noose around his neck.

Dumbledore hadn't been expecting that Harry would enjoy spending time with his relatives, Magic Haters that they were, but they'd taken him in. The sight of Harry's relief, coupled with the briefest glimpses of behavior that had been confusing him a bit, coupled with Hagrid's insistence that they were horrible people – something that he in hindsight should've paid closer mind to, considering the gentle giant – a picture was being painted that Albus Dumbledore did not approve of.

It was a picture that he would be talking with the Dursleys about over this coming summer.

Possible hexing might be included.

XXX

Harry wasn't sure why the Headmaster had looked so determined when he'd left, but he wasn't going back to the Dursleys, and he really wasn't planning on coming down from that high in a few weeks yet.

Still, he would be needing to study, in order to catch up to his classmates at the very least.

Frowning at the sudden memory of being forcibly placed under Madam Pomfrey's care, and how this would mean that he'd be _very_ lucky to get out of the hospital wing for any reason whatsoever, Harry tried to figure out some kind of loophole.

He wouldn't be able to leave his bed without being caught, he wouldn't be able to convince her to let him go, and her comments about wand-waving weren't very encouraging for her aiding him in catching up to his schoolwork. Therefore, he would need to gain the aid of someone else to bring him his wand, and as many books as possible to keep him from being driven mad from boredom.

As he sat there, pondering who would be willing to aid him in his defiance against the medi-witch, Harry began to make a mental checklist.

Not Ron. Whilst he might've apologized for being a prat about getting into the tournament, the boy wouldn't be willing to drag books to and from the infirmary, since that would be almost as bad as learning himself, and that went against the redhead's principles.

Not Hermione. Whilst she was supportive, and would immediately understand his need for catching up on his schoolwork if he mentioned his amnesia, she wouldn't dare defying one of the faculty members – that wasn't Snape – in their home territory.

That was probably bad. He had only two friends, and neither of them would be willing to aid him in his time of need. They were still good friends, but this meant that he really had no clue on who to convince to help him, or why those people would help him.

Maybe the twins? They would enjoy the chance to break the rules, certainly. And they didn't seem to mind learning, as long as it could be translated into something funny. Yes, that would work, but how was he supposed to talk to them? He doubted they'd be visiting him without prompting, which meant that he would have to send a message through one of his friends whenever they showed up.

If he told Hermione that he needed to talk to the twins, she'd be very disapproving, and might lecture him about the importance of rules. If he told Ron that he needed to talk to the twins, he would still need to explain his situation, and Ron might feel bad about not being reliable, or how he trusted his brothers more than he did him.

A dilemma, then.

Sighing heavily, Harry stared up at the bright ceiling through his transfigured sunglasses, wishing really hard that someone might come along to solve this problem for him for once.

There was a loud pop right next to him, and then Dobby was there.

"Mister Harry Potter Sir called for Dobby?" The mad house elf inquired cheerfully.

Harry was a moment away from saying that he hadn't, but then he realized that he'd just found someone that could help him.

"Ah, Dobby, just the elf I need. I need your help with something you see." A grin spread across his face as the elf looked absolutely ecstatic about helping him. This would be easier than he'd have thought.

XXX

It was surprisingly easy to hide his books and his wand whenever anyone visited.

In fact, Harry was starting to realize just how useful it was to be able to hear someone coming by the sound of their breathing on the other side of the infirmary door. Their footsteps were more regularly the giveaway though.

Thankfully, despite having lost his memories, his body seemed to remember the exact motions and pronunciations for whatever spell in the curriculum that he wanted to cast. This meant that he was quickly catching up on the needed material, and without the need to stop and try to comprehend how magic was supposed to work through endless essays, Harry was actually starting to enjoy learning a bit.

He didn't understand why he knew the compass spell, or how it worked, or what its history was, but he _knew_ it. He knew it like he knew his arm, or leg. He didn't need to understand the thirty-something muscles that he used when frowning, he just needed to get annoyed. Magic seemed to be working in a similar way, he was discovering.

He'd always known he was better at practical things than theory, but he'd always chalked it up to comparing himself to Hermione's completely logical approach to magic. Turns out that it might be a bit more instinctual than their teachers seemed to be insisting.

He'd considered running some manner of test for this newly acquired theory, but then that seemed to be contradicting itself.

Besides, according to Madam Pomfrey he should be dazed and in pain, not amnesiac and hyper-sensitive. Magical laws of the Universe, tremble in terror, Harry Potter will accidentally trip over you and bump his head on physics one of these days.

Stifling a snicker at the thought, Harry tried to _will_ the pages of his book to turn. He didn't know any page-turning spell, but he figured that it might be a good place to start if he wanted to play around with his newly found theory of non-logic. There were no wand-movements, no incantations. All he did was stare at the pages as he tried to touch upon the feeling that he usually assorted with using magic.

If someone had been present and aware of what he was doing, they would've told him that there's a reason why wandless magic is barely even taught in the first place. Too much effort for too little in return, resulted in people settling for a wandless summoning charm in order to get their wand back and leaving it at that.

Harry didn't know any of this, but was intrigued by the idea. And so, with his theory that magic was all about not believing that you _couldn't_ do something, Harry threw his head back and sighed.

He wasn't really getting anywhere with it, and whilst he knew that he shouldn't focus on the process, but rather the feeling or intent, he just wasn't getting anywhere.

So he turned the page of the book that was on the other side of the room and picked up another book to play with.

It took him a long moment before he realized what exactly he'd just done.

Blinking away his disbelief at how easy it was when you simply _did_ something, Harry grinned widely enough to almost resemble Dobby.

This was going to be awesome.

XXX

Summer was coming to a close, and Harry had actually gotten far enough with his theory on magic to forgetting to use his wand on repeated occasions.

Of course, knowing his luck, if he were to actually admit this fact to others they'd probably label him a Dark Lord and lock him up somewhere. Possibly Azkaban, you know, for being annoying or something.

It was amazing how disillusioned you could become to a society once its leaders decided to start a smear campaign on you. And whilst Harry might not _remember_ having said that he'd met the Dark Lord Voldemort at the end of the year, Dumbledore had confirmed his earlier words and Harry trusted in himself not to lie outright, and in Dumbledore to dodge the subject rather than be untruthful.

Therefore, Harry felt further vindicated in his belief that the Ministry was quite simply too stupid to live. But, aside from making a mental note not to interrupt a Death Eater attack on the general Ministry without good cause, Harry didn't think his attitude towards it had changed at all.

Fudge had been an idiot in his second year towards Hagrid, Fudge hadn't listened to Sirius' innocence in third year, and Fudge didn't believe in Voldemort's return by the end of his fourth year. Basically, there was good odds that if Fudge was on fire, Harry wouldn't piss on him.

Still, he _was_ sorry to hear about how Cedric died. He was a good guy from what little Harry had seen. It also made him feel distinctly uncomfortable about having a crush on Cho Chang, as acting on his crush and asking her out _after her boyfriend had been killed_, seemed kind of Malfoy-ish.

Of course, from what he'd managed to pick up from his friends whilst they were still around, he'd gone to the ball with Parvati, which if Harry was honest with himself, wasn't a bad girl to go to a dance with. At least not in the looks department.

Unfortunately, Harry also knew that he didn't know how to dance, that he didn't really get along with Parvati on a more talk-related basis, and that he'd apparently blown her off in favor of talking to Ron – something that sounded a lot like something he'd do.

Needless to say, Harry was both ashamed, embarrassed and amused that he'd made a complete ass of himself, and was only partially grateful that Ron had blown up on Hermione over her date, since it made him seem a lot nicer in comparison.

Sighing, Harry wondered at his own immense lack of attention when it came to girls. He knew Hermione because she was his friend/sister, he knew Ginny because she was his friend's sister, he knew Cho because she was his rival Seeker, he knew Parvati and Lavender as well as he did only because he kept overhearing their giggling in class, and he knew Pansy because she was a rude Slytherin.

Other than that, he'd picked up a few names from the rest of his year, admired a few pleasant views, and generally been too busy trying to do whatever he was doing at the time to pay much more attention than that.

Harry hoped very very much that he wasn't gay. He'd heard Hermione once mention something about how 'opposites attract' and how arguing could be a result of sexual tension – she'd been blushing a lot at that for some reason – and Harry could only imagine one male that he argued with enough for this observation to matter. Draco Malfoy. Harry suppressed a shudder.

Therefore, Harry hoped very very much that he wasn't gay. Because whilst he wouldn't have minded being Sorted into Hufflepuff, Harry would probably do the honorable thing and just kill himself on the spot if he was attracted to _Malfoy_ of all people.

It was partially this wary panic over his sexuality that had led Harry to try to name every last girl in Hogwarts.

He'd failed, obviously, but he knew just as few _male_ names, so that was somewhat inconclusive.

Of course, Harry being the kind of guy he was, wouldn't take failure without fighting back, and so he'd managed to acquire a list of all the students of Hogwarts and their Houses.

He'd then proceeded to copy all the females on the list, before crossing over the names of everyone he disliked. Never let it be said that Harry couldn't do his research without Hermione. She made it easier, and she researched better and quicker than him, but he could totally do it too.

Now armed with a list of girls that were at the very least distantly tolerable, Harry began to cross off the names of the obviously unattractive witches that he could remember, before making small signs next to the names of everyone that he knew was already dating someone else, or that Harry felt would be too weird to date – like Hermione, Ginny, and even Cho as he figured that it wouldn't end well.

This all left him with a reasonably long list, as he'd thankfully crossed out the names of all girls below third year as well as all those of seventh year. Harry didn't really mind the thought of dating an older witch, but since they wouldn't be in school by the time it started again, they were something of a moot point.

Armed with a list of four years of either unknown or reasonably attractive females, Harry decided that if he timed it right with all of this mudslinging that the Ministry was doing, he'd be able to avoid all those turncoat gold-diggers that Sirius had once warned him about.

It was his best plan ever.

It was also the only plan he'd never even consider showing to Hermione, as the girl would most likely hex him for even considering it.

XXX

Harry stared at number forty-two on his list, one Luna Lovegood, and wondered to himself how he could have _not_ noticed her previously.

She wasn't amazingly pretty, or by any stretch ugly, but she was... _bizarre_, was probably the best word for it, if not the most polite one.

Classes had started earlier that week, and Harry had been dismissing all of the so called sheep that had made their way onto his list. He'd succeeded in his attempts to keep his peculiar senses a secret, partly through wearing much more discreet earplugs, and partly through charming his glasses so that they looked the same as always, but cut off the light that made its way to his eyes. Kind of like clear sunglasses, actually. He'd also managed to keep his precious list hidden from both his two best friends _and_ the twins, a notable feat if there ever was one.

Other than working on his list, Harry was pleasantly surprised that he was easily keeping up in all classes but Potions. Defense Against Dark Arts wasn't really a class, so much as it was an attempted brainwashing session, so Harry wasn't even bothering with paying attention to it.

The fact that the toad of a professor was trying to provoke him just led Harry to the obvious conclusion that she was trying to fulfill the purpose of all Defense teachers. Killing Harry Potter.

First year, steal the Philosopher Stone and kill Harry Potter if he got in the way. Second year, remove Harry Potter's memories and leave him to die before taking credit for the entire thing. Third year, accidentally forget to take the Wolfsbane Potion when apprehending a traitor in Harry Potter's vicinity. Fourth year, enter Harry Potter's name into the Goblet of Fire so that he can either die in the tournament or be used to revive Voldemort in a ritual.

Clearly, there was a pattern emerging, and Harry figured that the toad wanted in on the action.

Regardless, he'd managed to play it cool, so far. Mostly through distracting himself by considering all females nearby.

He'd actually tried to consider Malfoy like that, and had almost thrown up, which he'd celebrated with doing an odd jig in his dorm. On an unrelated note, most of his dorm-mates were having doubts about his sanity.

Shrugging lightly as he guessed that number forty-two must have a good reason for having radishes as earrings, Harry figured that he might as well ask her about it.

XXX

Harry entered the Gryffindor common room, his eyes staring at something unseen, several hours after he'd first decided to inquire about Luna Lovegood's earrings.

"Harry? Mate? You okay?" Ron looked at him strangely.

Blinking dazedly, Harry tilted his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

"I can't believe I didn't see them before..." He whispered in amazement. "There must be hundreds of them..."

"Hundreds of what, mate?" Ron tried to follow his gaze, only to get more confused at the lack of anything in particular.

"The nargles." Harry whispered silently. "They're _everywhere_."

Ron blinked, frowning in confusion for a moment before an understanding dawned in horror on his face. "You've been talking to Loony Lovegood. And you've been _infected_!" He pointed accusingly at his friend.

Harry absently smacked his friend over the head with a pillow – not really noticing that he hadn't used anything but magic to do so. "Her name's Luna, and just because she seems crazy doesn't mean that she isn't _right_." He gestured towards the ceiling and the hundreds of the small creatures fluttering around up there.

"Mate! There's _nothing there_!"

"Of course you can't see them." Harry sighed. "You don't have the proper equipment to do so." He paused. "I don't really understand why _I_ can see them so clearly, but then normality doesn't seem to like me very much."

This didn't seem to satisfy Ron, who finally decided to find reinforcement against Harry's recently contracted Loony-ness.

"Harry, Ron's telling me that you're seeing things that aren't there." Hermione asked him hesitantly.

"Just because you can't see, feel or hear them, makes them no less real." Harry pointed out.

"Well..." Hermione paused, considering this declaration. "That's what religious people say about God." She admitted. "But they usually don't talk about seeing him on the ceiling."

Harry blinked. "Hermione, I'm not crazy, nor am I religious. But the nargles are _right there_." He gestured to the ceiling again. "They're as real as magic and thestrals."

"Thestrals?" Hermione tilted her head as a slight frown made its way onto her face.

"The things that pull the carriages." Harry explained absently. "They can only be seen by those who've watched death." Harry made a face. "Apparently it has more to do with seeing than remembering, though."

"What are you-?" Hermione's face turned pale. "... Cedric?"

Harry nodded, not really comfortable about talking about the death of his fellow champion, but still distant enough to shrug it off.

"So, these 'nargles'..." Hermione returned to their subject. "Can only be seen in special circumstances?"

Harry nodded again, a brief flicker of annoyance passing over his face. "Luna had a pair of glasses that helped, but once she told me _how_ to look I didn't need them."

Hermione pouted thoughtfully. "How do you see them?"

"You look beyond, and a little to the left, and then they're there." He shrugged. "It doesn't make much sense, and I don't think I could've done it _before_, but well..." He gestured to his light-obscuring glasses. "I got an upgrade."

The smartest witch of their generation looked at him for a long moment, before glancing back up at the ceiling. "So, what do they _do_?" She finally asked, ignoring Ron's indignant spluttering behind her.

"I don't have the faintest clue." Harry admitted with wide eyes as he too stared up at the hundreds of the nargles infesting the ceiling of the Gryffindor common room.

XXX

The news that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had been infected with Loony Lovegood's lunacy spread quickly along the Hogwarts rumor mill.

Gryffindor was beginning to believe that there might be some truth behind the Daily Prophet's proclamations of his insanity, Slytherin was mocking him loudly, Hufflepuff was breathing sighs of relief as this probably meant that Voldemort wasn't actually out there, and Ravenclaw spent a lot of time glaring at Luna.

Oddly enough, this stopped quite suddenly after Harry had absently mentioned that he would always keep an eye out for her. Luna was even finding that her roommates were anonymously returning all things that they'd 'borrowed' from her over the years.

When Hermione finally managed to corner one of the ravens about it, the answer she got was simple.

"Harry Potter has given Luna Lovegood his protection. The protection of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter. Any raven worth their brains would back off."

When Hermione later cornered Harry about his statement, he'd looked very confused, before mentioning in a very casual way that there was a book that she might want to read on his bed.

The book explained what it exactly it meant for Harry to be the last Potter, and what exactly it meant to be the Heir to an Ancient and Noble House. Hermione spread the word to Gryffindor, and soon all of Hogwarts stopped calling Luna Lovegood 'Loony'. They still called her _insane_ though, but neither of the two did anything about that but smile, so they figured it was alright.

Hermione did question him on where he got the book, but well, Harry wasn't going to tell her that he'd been using Dobby's services for free all of summer. The mere thought of doing so gave him nightmares. Hermione was _scary_.

XXX

**A/n: I like the idea of Harry with Super Senses, but I don't really know what to do with it, so I kind of just ended it without going anywhere.**


	4. A Different Third Year

A Different Third Year

**Summary: During PoA the casts do dumb things, and argue about dumber things. What if they thought about it logically?**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

XXX

Harry stared at his two friends.

"Are you guys idiots?" He finally managed to get out through his disbelief.

"It's trying to eat Scabbers!" Ron protested indignantly.

"Who you don't like." Harry pointed out reasonably.

"Crookshanks would never eat Scabbers!" Hermione shouted back at him.

"Crookshanks is a _cat_ Hermione, hunters by nature, rats are very much present on their diet." Harry shook his head at the absurdity of a non-logical Hermione.

Neither of his friends seemed ready to give up on arguing about their pets though, causing Harry to groan. He didn't want to play diplomat, but it didn't look like he'd be able to avoid doing so.

"Hermione, your _cat_ is paying an unnatural amount of attention to Ron's _rat_ no matter how you look at it. Ron, you've been complaining about being stuck with Scabbers since our first year, maybe you could leave him at the Burrow?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest that Crookshanks was merely curious, and that there was no danger whatsoever, but finally her logic reared its head and her mouth snapped shut. Ron was about to protest how he could leave Scabbers all alone, until he realized that he _had_ been complaining about the uselessly lazy rat since their first year, and that he wasn't especially inclined to taking care of him in the first place.

"Okay, fine, I'll leave him at the Burrow." He paused. "Which means that Crookshanks isn't allowed to wander around there freely." He decided resolutely, still feeling somewhat protective of the rat whom he'd been taking care of for so long.

Hermione nodded in acceptance of these terms, and Harry let out a relieved sigh.

"Great, so where do we go next?" Harry asked his two friends, who immediately pointed in opposite directions. Harry hung his head as they started arguing which direction they should go in.

They never seemed to get along.

XXX

Mr and Mrs Weasley were acting a bit odd, repeatedly shooting him worried glances throughout the rest of the summer, but that was okay.

There weren't any basilisks left at Hogwarts for him to rescue his friend's little sister from. And the Tom Riddle diary was very much dead, so there wouldn't be any worries on that front either. Add this onto how an invaluable magical artifact wasn't hidden in the school, and how Voldemort wasn't posing as a teacher, and Harry's third year at Hogwarts should be glorious in comparison to the others.

XXX

"Hermione, how can you be in two places at the same time?" Harry finally cornered his unusually stressed friend.

Hermione looked ready to argue that she wasn't, and that he couldn't prove anything, but she deflated as she looked into his eyes. There would be no excuses about this, Harry was worried about her.

What followed was a very thorough explanation of the Time Turner granted to her in order for her to get to class on time.

Ron almost fell asleep halfway through, until his eyes lit up with the sudden realization that such a thing could allow him a few more hours of sleep _every day_. Harry was more interested from the get-go, but still quite concerned about his friend's workload.

In the end, it was mutually decided that Hermione use her Time Turner to get a few hours of extra sleep, and to use it for her homework assignments as well, and that she should still consider dropping a subject or two. Her response was to drop Divination.

Ron thought she was being silly, Harry wished he'd have thought of that first. Without the crazy teacher gleefully predicting his death all the time, maybe he'd be able to find something more useful to do?

He'd heard interesting things about Ancient Runes, even if it would most likely be a bit harder than he preferred. Of course, Ron wouldn't really be very pleased with being left alone with the crazy woman in Divination, but Harry figured he could spin it to make his friend see it from his point of view.

It took really no time at all to convince Ron that Muggle Studies would be _easier_ with two muggle-raised as friends, and far more useful for his future than anything he could learn in Divination. The idea of being closer to reinventing his father's flying car was really just icing on the cake.

XXX

Sirius stared curiously at the ugly cat that looked like it was trying to tell him something.

He'd never been very good at charades, but he was seriously hoping that he was interpreting this correctly, because it would mean that he'd get away from the Dementors.

Wormtail wasn't here. Wormtail was still back at the Weasley home.

That was a pretty long walk though, which was why he was hoping that he wasn't reading the cat's charades wrongly.

XXX

Whilst originally merely enthusiastic about the ability to sleep for a few extra hours each day, Ron quickly came to love the ability to cram in more meals in a day than he'd normally be capable of. The extra time for slacking off – despite being forced into doing his homework – just made it all the more wonderful.

Of course, Hermione was in charge of all their time-traveling needs, as she was the most logically responsible one of the trio, but that didn't mean she couldn't take her two friends with her when she went. They had to think up a schedule to keep from running into themselves though, which was a bit annoying.

Hermione used the Time Turner to get to class, sleep, do a bit of extra homework, and spend a bit of time relaxing from her busy schedule. Ron used the Time Turner for more sleep, exploring the castle, slacking off in general, and homework. And Harry used the Time Turner in order to catch up on Ancient Runes, and practicing with the Patronus spell that Professor Lupin had showed him when he'd asked for help in dealing with the Dementors.

Needless to say, Hermione had jumped at the chance to learn the spell as well, with Ron being a semi-reluctant participant.

They didn't really work on homework any more than usual, but since they were now granted a lot more _time_ to make certain that such things got done, they were getting better at their work nonetheless.

Ron was almost showing off during his Muggle Studies lessons, already knowing a few things from being exposed to his father, and learning more things from his muggleborn/-raised friends. He was enjoying his time in the spotlight, and no longer complained – too much – whenever Hermione lectured him about something he'd gotten wrong or didn't know about muggles.

Hermione was continuing to take the teachers with storm, much like she always did.

And Harry proved himself to be fairly talented in regards to Ancient Runes, easily catching up to the other students. He'd however developed a slightly bewildering tendency to sketch out runes in his food, and was easily distracted from common conversation by the appearance of any magical object in his line of sight. Considering how the many paintings, the armors, and several of the passageway-openings counted as 'magical objects', his friends had gotten into the habit of smacking him lightly, in order to shake him out of his curiosity-induced daze, several times each day.

Of course, just because he could understand many of the runes, and was for once actually enjoying whatever homework that was given, didn't mean he was _exceptionally_ talented at it. He was still awed whenever he saw a working runic array, and quick to classify anything more complicated than 'I glow when activated' as far out of his league. Really, the more he learned, the more he realized that he didn't yet know. But he was looking forward to learning.

XXX

Arthur Weasley stared at the giant grim-like dog sitting in front of him.

A part of him was terrified that it might really be a grim, and that one of his family members were going to almost get themselves killed this year _too_, but mostly he was trying to figure out why the dog wasn't moving.

Or rather, why it only seemed to be moving in a very specific, and repeating pattern.

Was it playing charades?

Feeling immensely out of his depth, Arthur tried to guess.

"It has... four legs?" The dog nodded enthusiastically, before returning to motion. "It's... very small?" Another enthusiastic nod. "It's... old?" The dog nodded again, this time turning unusually focused eyes on the confused Weasley.

Not really understanding what it was talking about, Arthur nonetheless turned when the dog glanced meaningfully towards his house.

"It's in my house?" He paused, suddenly understanding. "You lost something small and old with four legs in my house, and want me to get it for you?" A very serious nod was his response.

Shrugging at the oddity that was apparently becoming his life, Arthur made his way back indoors in search of something old, small and with four legs. He couldn't remember them having any pets other than the family owl, which should really rule out the pet-category...

Arthur froze in mid-motion, turning back towards the uncharacteristically focused dog as he suddenly recalled how Percy had picked up a rat one day. How the rat was now spending its first school year at the Burrow since it'd been passed down to Ron, and how it really should've passed on half a decade ago.

"The rat?" He asked the dog as he stood frowning in the doorway.

The dog growled, a vicious madness flashing through its eyes that hadn't been there before, but it didn't move beyond a very slow nod.

Arthur was now pretty much convinced that the dog wasn't a dog. He doubted that any dog could be quite _that_ human. But it didn't seem ready to attack anyone but Scabbers, the rat that he was starting to suspect might not be quite as ordinary as they'd presumed.

Nodding quietly, Arthur turned back into the house. He would show the dog Scabbers, and then he'd demand an explanation from the canine.

XXX

"Your father was a prankster?" Hermione asked with a sort of dawning horror that can only stem from suddenly realizing that her friend's desire to get to know his parents might turn him into a delinquent.

"Something like that." Harry nodded.

Ron was excluded from this particular conversation on behalf of sleep, which was probably a good thing, seeing as how Harry would most likely end up getting into a discussion with Hermione, and if Ron took his side then she'd _never_ fold, just out of principle.

Hermione frowned at him. "I really hope that you're not planning on doing something stupid."

"I'm not." He hurriedly assured her. "I just want to... hear some stories, I suppose. Make them more real." He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Pranking is the twins area." He paused as a shiver made its way down his spine. "I really don't think I'd be able to measure up to them, and I think it'd end badly if I tried."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, trying to judge his sincerity, before nodding decisively. "Good."

"But I have this map..." He pulled out an old blank piece of parchment. "And I thought it'd be fun to explore Hogwarts a bit more... you know?"

It only took the mentioning of how more shortcuts meant less travel-time, resulting in longer time spent learning, for Hermione to fold like a cheap suit. And so the Hogwarts Exploration Expeditions was born.

XXX

Arthur took a deep breath as Amelia Bones finally arrived at the Burrow.

"Arthur? I trust you have a good reason for calling me here?" She demanded.

"Yes." He said simply, motioning for her to follow before walking back outside.

A giant grim-like dog sat on their lawn, glaring daggers at a very nervous common rat locked within an Unbreakable cage that stood in front of it.

It was a very bizarre scene, Arthur admitted silently to himself, but it would get a lot weirder before the day was over.

XXX

"Sirius Black Proven Innocent." Hermione read out loud the next day at the Gryffindor table.

The rest of the school was quite a bit louder in their exclamations than the muggleborn girl, but Harry was more curious about how it seemed as if he had a _godfather_. That was probably the most amazing thing ever. Would he finally be able to leave the Dursleys permanently? That would be great. But what if he didn't want anything to do with Harry?

It was all very dizzying for the Savior of the Wizarding World, and Ron's horror-filled exclamations of Scabbers' true identity didn't make it any easier to deal with.

XXX

**A/n: I liked the idea, I liked how it turned out, but I _completely_ ruined the plot for Third Year. So in the end, I kind of just let it go.**


	5. Collection Chapter 2

An Incomplete Potter Collection ch Collection 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

XXX

Death's Master

Ambitiously Ron

Hippogriff Escapees

Harry Meets Stitch

Harry Fiendfyre

Dragons and Feathers

Harry Zombie Job

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XXX

Story: [Death's Master]

Summary: Harry musing on his rather... peculiar love-life after becoming Master of the Hallows.

XXX

Harry sometimes really wanted to punch Dumbledore in the face. Repeatedly.

This wasn't because he'd ruined his life with his numerous plans and schemes, that he'd caused the deaths of his loved ones and that he'd manipulated him into doing whatever Dumbledore thought that he ought to be doing.

No, the reason Harry really wanted to punch Dumbledore in the face, was because... well, _her_.

She never left him alone, following him around like an excited puppy. It was maddening, and he couldn't get rid of her no matter what he tried.

After all, it wasn't like he could actually _kill_ Death. And nothing less would stop his bizarrely cheerful servant.

Turns out that Master of Death wasn't quite as conceited a title as he'd originally believed, and that Death was perhaps a little bit of a masochist. Still hot as hell though, even if she did have a rather peculiar interest in being tied up and ordered around. All in all, Harry wouldn't have exactly minded having Death stalking him with a lustful expression, except _nobody else could see her_, and didn't that just make it terribly awkward to introduce anyone to her?

Ginny hadn't been very forgiving. Though, considering she'd walked in on him getting molested in his sleep by something she couldn't see, Harry could hardly blame her for it. In fact, he thought she'd handled it remarkably well up until Death tried to convince them into a threesome, at which point Harry had scolded the invisible pervert rather severely since her touch had a tendency to kill pretty much anyone else she touched.

Harry's and Ginny's relationship had understandably crashed and burned after that. It takes a special kind of woman to not only let her boyfriend sleep around with his invisible stalker, but ignore how said stalker could kill her at any point in time completely by accident.

Then again, having sex with Death was always a... confusing, but almost disturbingly pleasurable affair. The jokes about him being a necrophile had been uncomfortable at best, and led to public outrages at worst.

Where had they even _gotten_ all those pitchforks?

So yeah, for so horribly complicating his life and accidentally hooking him up with Death, Harry really wanted to punch Dumbledore in the face.

Not that he didn't like her a lot, despite her quirks. Harry had lived a rather isolated and lonely life, and to say that he had trust issues would be a lot like calling the ocean 'wet', so the absolute loyalty he could so easily find in the pretty – much older – woman's personality had quickly made him rather content with his lot.

But that didn't make his love-life any less complicated, and so his determination to punch Dumbledore in the face persisted.

Harry was still trying to figure out if there was any way that he and Death could end up with kids. It sounded absurd, and he wasn't entirely sure of if it was a good idea by any stretch of the word, but Harry had always wanted a big family and if Death was the only female in his life, then perhaps it was a worthy thought to consider.

XXX

XXX

Story: [Ambitiously Ron]

Summary: Ron Weasley, in a world designed for the general bashing-fic, is determined to make a difference.

XXX

Harry Potter looked up at the freckled redhead sticking his head inside of his compartment.

"Hello. My name is Ron Weasley, can I sit here?"

Not wanting to scare off this possible first friend of his life, Harry nodded hurriedly, gesturing at all the empty seats.

The boy smiled in an interestingly nervous way, but took one of the seats, closing the door behind him, but not putting away his trunk.

Harry thought that this was odd, but he _really_ didn't want to risk scaring away this new potential friend.

"Right. Well..." The boy's ears turned a little red. "I'm just going to say this bluntly." He cleared his throat. "My name is Ron Weasley, you are from description, Harry Potter. I've been _assigned_ to be your 'best mate' for the rest of our schooling." There was embarrassment in his voice, as well as annoyance.

"Assigned by who?" Harry asked with a frown, not liking the thought of having friends only because people told them to be friends with him.

"My parents, of course, and technically on the orders of Albus Dumbledore." Ron answered with a frown. "Which leads me to my next point. _Don't trust my family_." He stared deep into Harry's eyes, trying to convey just how serious he was about this. "Percy will follow even the rules that are obviously retarded. The twins don't understand the concept of not crossing the line. And my sister has been... well, 'brainwashed' doesn't seem like a bad choice of words, into believing that she will become 'Mrs Potter' when she graduates."

Harry's mouth popped open as he stared at this boy who was telling him this kind of stuff about his own family. Suddenly, the Magical World was making Harry feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"Bottom line: Don't trust my family, and don't trust Dumbledore. I don't know _for sure_ that Dumbledore is out to get you, or actually evil, or whatever, but _don't trust him_." Ron then slumped back into his seat. "Sorry to dump this on you, but like I said, I've been 'assigned' as your best mate, and I need to convince you that Gryffindor is the only House worth a damn, and that my family is 'poor but noble', so if you can pretend to believe that by the time we show up at Hogwarts, it'd be great."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Harry wondered if this boy disliked him.

"Because you deserve to know." The boy shrugged. "And I would really like not to be forced to pretend to be a retarded monkey around _someone_."

"Retarded monkey?"

"I have five older brothers." Ron began, frowning slightly. "All of them driven, all of them talented, all of them popular in their own way. We're poor, so I will always be given hand-me-downs, and no matter what I do, I will never be anything more than 'the sixth son'. Especially since my little sister is the first female Weasley in _generations_." He paused, staring out the window. "I was eighth when I realized that I didn't matter. Only my age mattered, because I was _your_ age, and that gave me the ability to be used to become 'the friend of the Boy-Who-Lived'. And the best way to make sure that I don't mess up their plans, is for me to be too stupid to realize that what I'm doing is morally questionable. So I fake it, pretend that I'm hopeless at everything, act like a moron whenever possible." He shook his head in disgust. "I don't want that to be the rest of my life. I don't want to fade away into obscurity, but there's _nothing I can do about it_." He suddenly turned back to Harry, a smirk dancing on his lips. "But _you_ can. Because you are the Boy-Who-Lived, and you're 'destined for great things'."

"So you want to bask in my glory?" Harry's frown had turned into a glare.

"No." Ron's face distorted into indignant anger as his fists clenched. "That's what my _family_ wants me to do. _I_ want to get the hell away from my family, and to do that without being labeled as 'Dark' I'm going to need your help."

"Why would you be Dark if you don't want to be with your family?" Was the curious question he received in turn.

"Because I'm a Weasley, one of the blood-traitors, and thus belonging to the poor but noble, and prominently Light family." Ron explained. "If I break off from them, I can't be 'Light' and therefore I must be 'Dark'."

"But that makes no sense!" Harry exclaimed, trying to wrap his head around such illogical logic.

"We're wizards. Common sense hasn't been seen naturally occurring for _centuries_." Ron pointed out bluntly.

Harry considered what he knew of Hagrid for a moment, and found himself reluctantly agreeing with Ron's assessment.

"So, how do you expect _me_ to help?" Harry finally asked.

"Don't blow my cover until after the OWLs in our fifth year." Ron admitted. "In order for my plan to work, I would need to be around you too often for it to be mere coincidence. And if you then break off from under Dumbledore and actually make a side worth supporting, I can easily join _your_ side against my family and Dumbledore's _without_ being labeled as Dark."

"So you want me to pretend to be the 'mastermind' behind some organization that you can join?" Harry wasn't sure he liked where this was going. "What for?"

"Well, obviously, unless you're planning on marrying my sister and doing whatever Dumbledore tells you to, then you're going to need to start up a new side." Ron pointed out reasonably. "There are a few ways of doing that: you could become the next Dark Lord, you could trick Dumbledore into killing himself after making you his heir, or you could convince the muggleborns that your side is inherently better for them than any of the others."

"How would my side be 'better'?" Harry demanded, now slightly intrigued, and rather relieved that Ron's expression made it rather clear that becoming a Dark Lord wasn't a recommended option.

"Dumbledore is a traditionalist." Ron leaned forward conspiratorially. "That means that he'll support 'old laws' and 'culture' and stuff. Whilst Dark Lords only really crop up from the purebloods and wouldn't be interested in muggleborn rights by any stretch of the word. This all means that as long as 'old laws and culture' include 'discrimination against muggleborns', Dumbledore will support it." Ron grinned an almost evil grin. "And once the muggleborns start to actually realize that _before_ they get too old to make a difference, his support-base will crumble underneath him. All _you_ need to do is to shake things up a bit, and then offer an alternative flag to flock to."

Harry didn't know anything about politics, he didn't really understand who Dumbledore was, and he had no clue as to what might be included in wizarding culture, but Ron's enthusiasm was infectious, and it didn't take long before Harry accepted Ron's plan on a 'trial basis'.

They shook hands and everything.

XXX

When Hermione Granger first entered their compartment, apparently trying to help the stuttering Neville with finding his toad, Harry's and Ron's eyes met.

She was muggleborn. She was in their own year. And she was both helpful and smart.

The only question they could ask themselves now was: would Longbottom help?

"Harry. What would it matter if you get seen in the company of Longbottom, and a muggleborn, helping him out?" Ron said with a serious face, obviously deep in thought.

Harry considered this for a while, ignoring the way that Hermione bristled and Neville slumped.

"It would mean that I'm helpful." He admitted. "It would also give most of them a short glimpse of me, might force me to confront people I really don't want to meet."

Ron nodded. "Right, but it would also mean that I'd be forced to come with you, in order to keep my cover."

"And in the presence of a Weasley so early on..." Harry trailed off. "I would be Dumbledore's man, solidifying my status as Light, but also risking to turn me into a puppet in their eyes."

"What are you two going on about?" Hermione finally demanded angrily.

Ron and Harry's eyes met, and they shared a nod.

"Close the door you two." Harry told them. "We'll explain everything."

It took a while, and both of them protested against Ron's assessment of their headmaster's games. But in the end, their duo had become a quartet.

Harry would be the 'Gryffindor Golden Boy', keeping everyone assured that nothing was wrong, whilst at the same time being distant enough that nobody would look twice. Ron would be their 'beard' so to speak, making absolutely sure that nothing slipped out to the public before they were ready to move. Hermione was to show off as the 'muggleborn prodigy' in everything, even if it meant that they would all have to chip in to teach her, just to make her a symbol against the purebloods. And Neville was to become the 'social network' to keep them aware of everything around them.

Harry would only interact with the rest of the quartet, and was allowed to have casual acquaintances outside of them, but not anything deeper – Ron had considered the involvement of romance later on in their lives, but it was of no consequence right now. Ron would interact with the rest of the quartet, and be rude in that oafish sort of way to anyone trying to come closer to them. Hermione would interact with the quartet, the teachers and any other potential prodigies. And Neville would interact with the quartet, and the Hufflepuffs.

The Hufflepuffs were chosen as Neville didn't believe he'd be brave enough for Gryffindor, despite Hermione's quote of bravery not being the absence of fear as much as the determination to go on regardless. Ron was worried that he might be Sorted into Slytherin, as that would completely ruin all of their plans. And Hermione was likely either a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor. Harry wasn't given a choice in his House, as Slytherin would again ruin their plans utterly, Hufflepuff wouldn't get him taken seriously once they made their move, and Ravenclaw would make him appear too 'neutral'.

Yes, they'd planned it all. Because Ron was determined to get away from a family trying to manipulate an eleven year old orphan on the orders of an insane old man. Because Hermione was always curious about what else they might add on their new lists and schedules. Because Harry didn't want to be blindsided by the madness of the Wizarding World. And because Neville wanted concrete instructions on how in the world he was supposed to 'befriend' enough people to work as a social network.

It took them most of the train-ride but in the end, they had their plan. And Neville was determined to make the most out of his continuously escaping toad.

Ron Weasley never showed off Scabbers to his new friends and partners in crime, not because he got distracted through his endless plotting, but rather because – despite what he wanted people to think – he didn't trust the thing.

Rats lived for maybe four years, not ten.

Rats enjoyed rat-activities, such as eating, sleeping, and _running in a wheel_.

Therefore, perhaps it was rather obvious that he greeted Harry, only once he'd made sure to dump the fat rat into another person's bag.

The rat ended up in the bag of one Susan Bones.

She screamed when she found it there the next morning at Hogwarts, which caused several older Hufflepuffs to rush to her aid.

Only to discover that the rat in question wasn't really a _rat_.

Susan sent an Unbreakable box to her aunt by owl before lunch.

Sirius Black would get a trial before the school year ended.

XXX

They were all Sorted into Gryffindor, much to their relief. This would make their quartet so much easier to form, so much less suspicious.

Hermione had been thrown into Gryffindor once the Hat realized that despite her Ambition and Intelligence, it was her Bravery that told her their plan ought be successful. Neville was Sorted into Gryffindor after a brief discussion about what Bravery truly was, and noting that his Loyalty had already been 'stolen' by his fellow conspirators. Harry was finally given to Gryffindor after he'd managed to convince the Hat that he was being foolishly Brave with the whole plan-thing since he had no idea what he was getting himself into, and not at all Ambitious or Cunning, honest. And Ron was sent to Gryffindor after a few very long moments that consisted of him viciously denying that any true Slytherin ever gets Sorted into Slytherin.

The Hat had sounded suspiciously amused on all four occasions, but they were willing to let that slide as they were after all rather grateful to it for allowing them to sneak under the radar.

XXX

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Story: [Hippogriff Escapees]

Summary: Hermione and Harry follow Sirius in his escape together with Buckbeak, because being on the run is infinitely better than returning to their respective 'homes'.

XXX

It's a small thing. Barely worth mentioning, really. But as they descend to land on the school grounds, Buckbeak moving beneath them in a bizarrely effortless way, Sirius muses that this was the first time he'd been happy to leave his first true home.

And Hermione and Harry learns that they're not alone. That someone else knew of parents who ignored their existence no matter how well they did their schoolwork, that someone else knew of relatives who locked them in a cupboard for wanting to eat their fill. That someone else came to Hogwarts and hoped only to find a way out.

And they look at the man who he became, and how the world would treat someone who only wishes to be free, and two third year students wonder if Hogwarts won't betray them too, in the end.

Harry and Hermione's eyes meet, and they know that they're thinking the same.

Sirius refuses. Resolutely denies them.

Hermione tells him how she made her first friends. And Harry shows him his scars, both of an upbringing that should never have happened, and of school years that should've never been imagined.

Sirius caves, eyes clouding in silent rage at what they've faced.

That night, contrary to the plans of an old man, contrary to the wishes of a petty bully, contrary to the beliefs of a coward, three broken people ride out of Hogwarts on the back of a condemned Hippogriff.

One is a genius that would never be appreciated for the parents that birthed her. One is an innocent man sentenced to death for crimes he never committed, without a trial ever being considered. And the final one is a boy who learned his own wildly famous name wasn't 'boy' or 'freak' only when a teacher called attendance on his first day of school.

Three people, betrayed by their world every step of the way, who found comfort in the appearance of others like them. Three people, who would never willingly separate again.

XXX

"Dumbledore sent another note." Harry called to the rest of his companions.

Sirius made a frustrated noise. "You'd think the old coot would learn to give up."

"Did Fawkes bring it?" Hermione asked cautiously, wanting to know if their attempts at warding themselves from the Instant Return Transportation Bird had succeeded.

"No, a school owl." Harry very carefully did not touch the letter, having been warn previously by Sirius of the dangers of portkeys.

Hermione let out a breath in relief, before turning to the letter in question. "So, what do we do with it?"

"Burn it?" Harry suggested.

"Burn it and ward against future owls?" Sirius added onto his suggestion.

"I would like to say, disarm it and read what he's got to say... but yes, considering who he is, it'd be an unnecessary risk for reading what is most likely another message for Harry to return to the Dursleys." Hermione sighed in disgust.

She'd admired Albus Dumbledore, once. She hadn't been as close to him as Harry, but then she wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived and essential to some obscure plan of his. Now, she wondered just what 'Greater Good' that the old headmaster would always speak of was.

"He really has a one-track mind." Harry commented absently as he used his Trace-lacking wand to turn the letter to ashes.

There was a brief flash as the magic in the parchment-bound portkey activated, and the pile of ashes disappeared.

They'd almost fallen for it the first time, only Sirius' well-founded paranoia from having been on the run for most of a year keeping them from being dragged back, kicking and screaming.

Removing the Trace had proved a tiny bit annoying, a little bit complicated, but surprisingly simple. Apparently, Sirius had removed the Trace from his own wand when he was still in school. Something about not wanting to be found out for doing pranks. A lot of his stories were based around pranks. In fact, they were pretty much the only happy memories he had left to cling to after the Dementors had finished with him.

It's not truly happiness when you curse a traitor in those memories, and endlessly mourn your best friend, before feeling guilty of suspecting the third. The memories were at best bittersweet, and Hermione could understand just what it meant that Sirius had actually managed to be motivated to do _anything_ whilst in the presence of those things, let alone actually break out.

Of course, the fact that an owl had found them meant that it was time to move again. Very quickly, before anyone who might've followed that owl decided to drop in.

And so the three escapees hurriedly asked Buckbeak for a ride.

Buckbeak thought that they were idiots, but he'd apparently become fond of their idiocy over the last week, because he let Harry and Hermione up. Sirius mounted Harry's Firebolt with Crookshanks and they were off, Hedwig following in their wake.

This was because Hermione didn't trust either of the boys not to make dips and turns on the broom whilst she was with them, and thereby causing her to scream in a most undignified manner. Sirius thought it was funny, Harry thought it was cute, Hermione threatened to take vengeance on them and both males folded.

Hermione would be riding Buckbeak, and since she wasn't to be trusted in the air, Harry – the lighter of the two males – rode with her.

By the time they'd landed after that first night rescuing Sirius, Crookshanks had greeted them. None of them could figure out how the half-kneazle could've known where they were going, but Hermione had for once been too happy to ask too many questions. Hedwig had shown up a night or two after that, looking perfectly content, and giving off the impression that the only reason she was late was because she'd decided to go sightseeing on the way.

She'd also been carrying Harry's broom in her claws. And a bag that'd been charmed feather-weight, that was filled with both Harry's meager possessions and food. Glorious, heavenly food.

In hindsight, they really should've packed something to eat before they fled Hogwarts.

Still, there'd been a lot of confusion as to how Hedwig had gotten her hands on such a brilliant packer, until they'd found a note telling Mr Great Harry Potter Sir to be careful on his trip.

All three agreed that if they ever saw Dobby again, they'd kiss him.

XXX

Ron Weasley sat with the Daily Prophet in his hands, reading silently and ignoring his mother's screeching.

Harry had left. Just up and left, no goodbyes, nothing. Hermione had followed him, and now they were on the run.

A part of him wanted to rant and scream, to yell at them for abandoning him. But he was happy at home, and he knew very well that neither of his friends were.

He couldn't blame them for not wanting to go home, for wanting to get away from their 'families', even if he didn't like the idea of being left alone.

The Daily Prophet was filled with headlines concerning his two best friends, and the supposed mass murderer Sirius Black. Apparently, they'd been 'kidnapped' by the madman. The thought made him want to laugh, because he was fairly sure that he would've been the one most against them leaving with him.

He hoped that they would manage to clear Sirius' name before September, so that he would be able to continue his schooling with the two of them, but he wasn't expecting that to happen. He'd heard of what Fudge had done before, and it was clear that he didn't want to allow Sirius his trial. Ron wasn't sure why; if it was Malfoy lining his pockets, or his attempts at covering up his own incompetence, but Sirius Black wouldn't be receiving a trial – even _if_ the DMLE had apparently gotten Fudge to withdraw the Kiss-on-sight order on behalf of him traveling with two minors, one of which was the Boy-Who-Lived.

No, Ron had resigned himself to trying to find someone else to spend time with for his next year in Hogwarts. Possibly for the rest of his schooling.

His mother, on the other hand, was ranting and raving about the evil man kidnapping innocent children, which was actually starting to get on Ron's nerves.

"Mom. Shut. Up." He finally growled at her.

The silence was almost deafening. Nobody interrupted Molly's rants, especially not her own children, it just wasn't done.

"Harry went happily, Hermione followed without hesitation, and Sirius Black is innocent." Ron explained to his stunned mother.

"Innocent?! Bah! And what do you mean Harry went happily?! Why would he consort with a criminal?!" She demanded in a shrill voice.

"Because he is his godfather!" Ron yelled back. "And anything that gets him away from his relatives is a good thing in his book!"

"Humph! And what of this girl, then?! Is he her godfather too?!" Molly demanded angrily.

"No, she went because she can't stand her parents and probably didn't want to leave Harry alone!" Ron glared at her.

"I didn't raise you to be snappy!" She pointed angrily at him.

"You raised me by yelling at me, and stuffing me with food!" Ron scowled back at her.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! Go to your room!" She yelled.

Ron threw his hands up in the air and marched off. "And Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew in disguise!" He shouted back at her as he slammed the door.

It would be some time before he realized it, but it was at that moment that the Weasleys began to realize that there was something... 'off' about their household. It would be even longer until Ron realized that he might've actually had a good reason for following his friends away.

XXX

Remus took a deep breath as he made his way towards Number 4 Privet Drive.

Hermione's parents had been... bad, and he really wasn't looking forward to whatever Harry's relatives were like.

After he'd realized what had happened during his transformation, Remus wanted answers. Because children shouldn't believe that being on the run from the Ministry was better than going home for summer.

Okay, sure, most kids would hear about being on the run and think of all the cool and exciting parts, but to actually have a child _go through with it_? That set off alarm bells in Remus' book.

So, he'd visited the Grangers, trying to get a good clue as to why their daughter was willing to just up and leave one day.

He'd found a house so clean that it could be called sterile, and faces so indifferent that he wondered if they weren't made of plastic. Imagining a child growing up in that environment sent shivers down his spine. It might not have been as bad as what Sirius went through growing up, but it was certainly enough to leave the child with scars for life.

So, having determined that Hermione's home wasn't a very pleasant place to return, Remus continued on his way in order to check up on what Harry's home-life had been like.

He knocked on the door.

A face appeared on the other side. "You people!" The woman hissed, her face twisted into disgust. "We don't know where he is! Bugger off!"

Remus, slightly taken aback at the poison in the woman's tone, felt his eyes narrow in suspicion.

He wasn't an auror, he wasn't a minor, and he'd lived a harsh enough life to know that sometimes you couldn't play nice with everyone.

He pulled his wand.

The door opened and he was grudgingly invited inside by the Confounded muggle.

Then, inside of the revoltingly pristine house, Remus began to ask his questions.

To say that he wasn't pleased at what he found would've been an understatement.

XXX

"There were bars on his windows Albus!" Remus roared as he swept into the Great Hall, ignoring the teachers startling at his sudden entrance.

Dumbledore flinched in his seat, but Remus didn't care.

He'd been upset when he'd first been told that he wouldn't be allowed to visit his friend's orphaned son all those years ago, but he'd accepted it just as he accepted all other discrimination he was subjected to due to his disease. He'd accepted to teach DADA for a year as the world searched for his supposed-massmurderer of a friend in order to keep that same boy safe, and he'd been rather upset when he woke up after the moon set only to realize that the innocent man was still on the run due to a childhood grudge from a 'respected professor' and that he'd lost his job because of the same man.

But calling him 'upset' didn't quite cut it anymore. Absolutely furious might come closer.

XXX

XXX

Story: [Harry Meets Stitch]

Summary: Stitch doesn't land on Hawaii, but in Surrey. He still gets run over by a truck though, and when Dudley asks for a puppy, Harry meets Experiment 626.

XXX

Sometimes, the smallest of differences, can make all the difference.

So, when an insane genetic experiment under the name of '626' makes just the tiniest miscalculation in the space-jump as he's chased down by the entire space-fleet for termination, he doesn't land on a tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. No, instead he lands on a rather large island, in the middle of Europe.

His landing is still just as uncomfortable as it would've been, and in a fit of irony, he still manages to get hit by a truck, despite landing half a world away from where he would've originally ended up.

Perhaps even more ironically, he still gets dragged off to a dog pound once the driver calls in an alert.

And in a twist of insanity, a rather large boy decides that he wants to go see the dogs at the pound, and complains in a loud and whiny voice until his parents take him there. He's visually annoyed that his cousin has to come with them, but comforts himself with the thought of laughing at stupid animals that might get offed if nobody picks them up.

His cousin thinks that he's a bastard, but knows better than to say it out loud.

So, enter two snotty parents, a spoiled brat, and a boy who feels a rather distinctive empathy for the poor animals that might catch his cousin's eye.

Vernon and Petunia Dursley stay outside, talking to the owner, and not getting themselves involved with whatever mutt they might be keeping. Dudley Dursley gleefully charges in amongst the cages, only to frown angrily at the lack of animals. Harry Potter follows his cousin sedately, not wanting to draw the bigger boy's ire.

Dudley continues searching for an animal to make fun of, but can only find a blueish pile of fur in one corner of a cage. And whilst the pile of fur does seem rather alive, it also appears to be sleeping. Dudley of course, immediately decides that it should be awake, and sets about convincing it to wake up.

Harry tries to keep his mouth closed as he stares up at the forms of _dogs in the ceiling_. Dogs that are shivering in terror. Dogs that must've _climbed there_ to get away from something.

The last Potter briefly wonders why his cousin isn't looking up into the ceiling of the cages, but realizes quickly that his cousin is an idiot and therefore hardly the type to think outside of the box.

Then the pile of blue fur wakes up, and all hell breaks loose.

Dudley is hurled through a window – maybe for being annoying, maybe for being within reach – the owner and his parents rush in and promptly get exposed to the same amount of violence.

Harry watches, and comes to the conclusion that whilst he's only eight years old, and has his whole life ahead of him, this is the coolest moment of his life.

The genetic experiment called 626 considers attacking the dark haired boy with glasses, but encounters something weird before he acts on it.

He doesn't want to hurt the kid.

He wants to bring chaos and destruction, he wants to laugh madly and ruin people's lives. But he doesn't want to hurt the kid.

Perhaps, if someone had explained to 626 what magic was, and what the Blood Wards that the late Lily Potter left behind signified, he would've understood it. But he didn't.

So, confused and distracted, 626 decided that his escape and reign of terror wouldn't be badly affected by dragging the scrawny kid along until he figured out what was going on.

Harry Potter, age eight, not yet introduced to magic, had just watched a tiny creature manhandle his relatives in a very admirable way, when suddenly he found himself dragged along for the ride by a creature barely reaching his shoulders.

And thus a legend was born. An infamous legend rather than a heroic one, but a legend nonetheless.

XXX

Albus Dumbledore wouldn't realize that Harry Potter wasn't going to be returning to the Dursleys until several days after that incident. By then, he would find no trace of the boy.

Or, well, he _would_. After all, the seemingly endless line of destruction that turned the muggle world on its head _was_ technically Harry's trace. But Dumbledore would only find panic and chaos on his search, and he would not be brought a moment closer to the boy who was slowly beginning to awaken the Marauder blood running through his veins.

Experiment 626 originally only brought him along due to a mixture of confusion and curiosity, but by the time they'd made their way to London, the chaotic little menace found a certain degree of admiration for the tiny human. He could make things happen that 626 couldn't, and if he did them very... 'loudly' in the vicinity of electronics, there was usually even _more_ chaos as a result.

Harry on the other hand was slowly coming to grips with the idea that 'crime' only really mattered when you got caught.

It was an attitude that whilst it might serve him well in times to come, would drive all those around him into some degree of insanity.

Interestingly enough, a problem appeared once they actually arrived in London.

They couldn't carry any more left shoes, and they'd run out of things to clog up the sewer system with. Understandably, the shoes' owners wouldn't _want_ their left shoes back once the two chaos-spreaders solved both of their brief dilemmas at once.

XXX

XXX

Story: [Harry Fiendfyre]

Summary: Voldemort decided to make a thorough example of the infant Potter, so rather than use a spell of instant death, he used Fiendfyre.

XXX

There are many things that Wizards never bothered to truly explore. Sometimes it's because of the danger of the experiment, sometimes it's because of how easy it is to simply continue to ignore something. Why try to understand something that already works, after all?

How does the Cruciatus curse actually convey pain? Is it by hurting all the nerves in the responding areas, or is it by simply hijacking the pain-center of the brain? How does the Killing Curse kill it's victims? By scaring them to death, or by simply separating their flesh from their souls?

Why does Fiendfyre act as though it's sentient? Is it through the magic of the caster, or is something on a different plane of reality reaching out through the flames?

Voldemort, like most of the Wizarding World, cared little for the precise truths of the world, as long as they worked in his favor. And though he'd entertained the idea of killing the infant Potter, the possible child of prophecy, by slinging a Killing Curse at him, Voldemort had decided that it wouldn't leave much of an impact on the remaining opposition.

Yes, it would most certainly prove his cruelty and inhumanity, to use the Killing Curse on a fifteen months old infant, but it wouldn't leave much of an _impact_. No, better to use something bigger, flashier. Something to prove that nothing could stand against him.

Lord Voldemort smiled cruelly as he called up Fiendfyre over the crib. Let it be known that Voldemort burned the infant's soul to dust.

His smile turned to laughter as the boy began to scream, and he turned to disappear back into the night.

Something grabbed a hold of him. Fire given flesh. Fire given spirit, it held onto him, and it dragged him back into the room.

His wand blazing against whatever dared to defy him, Voldemort threw curse after curse into the raging inferno that was once a nursery.

"We claim the soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle, for defiance of the contract." A melodic voice spoke through the flames. "The threads of Fate will burn. The contract is broken."

There was a pause which Voldemort used to scream incoherently as the flames began to blacken his skin, before the voice spoke again.

"The Prophecy is claimed. The child is claimed. The six pieces of soul are claimed." And then the voice was drowned out by the roaring of the fire.

XXX

Hagrid had rushed to the location of the Potters at Dumbledore's orders.

What he found was a blazing inferno. There was no way anything could survive that. No way that anyone could live through that.

"No." Came a gasp to his right. "No. Not Harry..." It whispered in horrified sorrow.

Sirius Black stood with his famous motorcycle, tears pouring down his face, horror filling his entire expression.

Hagrid opened his mouth to say something, to ask something, but then the young man's face twisted into unspeakable rage.

"Wormtail." The man glanced around. "I need to find him."

"Why?" Hagrid questioned warily, not liking how the man's eyes lit up with madness at the mentioning of his fellow Marauder.

"To bury the remains, or to kill him myself." He growled out, his eyes snapping over to Hagrid's form. "When it dies down," he glanced meaningfully over at the flames, "... find them?" His voice seemed to break, heavy with sorrow and guilt.

Hagrid nodded, turning back to the flames as Sirius took to the skies once more.

XXX

Harry's first true memory would always be the fire.

Everything burned. Nothing was spared the relentless flames.

Sometimes there was screaming, cruel laughter turned into pleas for mercy. But there was always fire.

It was odd, he would later think. That he felt no fear despite the inferno surrounding him. He felt warm and safe, as if held in a loving embrace.

Even later in life, whenever he was faced with an open flame, it was as if he could hear it whispering to him. The greater the flame, the louder the voice.

A part of him wondered if this meant that he was a pyromaniac. He'd read that those weren't nice people, and he really hoped that he wasn't like that. But the fire always sounded so nice, so kind, when it whispered to him.

He grew up with his relatives the Dursleys, a family obsessed with normalcy. And he supposed that hearing the whispering voice of fire wouldn't be considered 'normal', so he kept quiet about it, never telling a soul.

XXX

XXX

Story: [Dragons and Feathers]

Summary: Harry walks to his death in the First Task, but Fate is a strange thing, and Hedwig is a very beautiful owl.

XXX

Harry stared at the tent-wall separating him from what he could only assume was a much much bigger version of the small miniature dragon in his hand.

Ron believed him to be a traitorous friend and a liar, Hermione had broken off from him in an attempt to avoid being ostracized as well, Gryffindor was avoiding him for his continuous 'lies', the rest of Hogwarts were quite vocal in their support for Cedric, the newspapers were slandering him in any way they could think of, his fellow Champions viewed him with disgust, and nobody seemed all that worried over how he was going into a challenge for people several years his senior in which people died with disturbing regularity.

He was alone.

Completely and utterly alone.

The call to exit the tent finally sounded.

Taking a deep breath, he walked out into the sunlight.

The sky was blue, he noted absently, a few fluffy white clouds spread across it in a very picturesque way. There was a faint smell of something burnt, with something he couldn't pinpoint hiding beneath it.

The dragon roared, the very ground shuddering underneath the sound.

There were people who signed up for this? Truly, wizards were mad.

Harry met the raging mother's eyes. If he lived today, Voldemort would return to try to rectify it, probably getting someone he liked caught up in it. Perhaps that was why he didn't feel nervous. Terrified, desperate, horrified, sad, angry, but not nervous.

He had yet to draw his wand, which should perhaps have been the audience's first clue.

He stood before a nesting dragon, one belonging to the fiercest species in existence, and he had yet to make any move to defend himself.

The Dursleys would be pleased, the Weasleys might feel a bit bad, the Malfoys would hold a parade, and the rest would most likely just go on about him being some kind of martyr and how they'd known it all along.

And in that moment, Harry realized that he didn't care. What was his life but an endless flight from the Dursleys? It explained his desire to forever hide away in Hogwarts. What was the point? They'd send him back next summer, just like they had all the previous ones.

Taking a step closer to the gigantic reptile, Harry realized that he wasn't scared any longer.

Fear was something for people with something to lose.

Another roar caused the gravel to rattle silently, and Harry took another step closer, still not looking away from the mother's eyes. She wanted to protect her children, she wanted to keep them safe from the wizards surrounding her, the wizards who'd stolen them away from their home.

This was the Wizarding World? Spreading cruelty and terror for its own entertainment? To endanger a mother's young to keep them motivated?

Why had he ever wanted to live in a world that was ruled by honorary Dursleys? A world where racism wasn't seen as _wrong_, but as a difference of opinion? It seemed silly now, in hindsight.

Another step, his wand still carefully tucked away.

He'd never kissed a girl, he suddenly recalled. That was probably kind of sad. Fourteen years old, famous, reasonably attractive, hadn't even kissed, let alone lost his virginity. He couldn't actually imagine anyone for him to kiss, but that didn't make it any less disappointing. A bummer, really.

Sighing a little at that thought, Harry kept his eyes locked with the dragon.

He wasn't sure why he wasn't looking away, perhaps because the eyes weren't quite as threatening as the rest of its body, perhaps because she was going to kill him and he wanted to remember her eyes.

Yellow. They reminded him of Myrtle's description of her own death. Big and yellow, and attached to a very lethal magical reptile.

Still, he couldn't relate the protective mother in front of him with the mad snake in the Chamber. She looked too... sympathetic.

It was almost as if she understood that he was as much a prisoner as she was.

Another step, and she roared a warning. She wouldn't remain peaceful if he walked further.

He already knew that.

He took another step, ignoring the audience who was just starting to realize what was happening. The audience who'd just gone silent in horror, as their great savior walked to his death for their _entertainment_.

With a final step on his part, the mother breathed fire in defense of her young.

Screams tore through the air as Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was engulfed in dragon-fire.

XXX

It burned. His lungs were slowly turning into charcoal, his eyes were burning even through his eyelids, and he could feel his skin bubbling and cracking under the heat.

It hurt. It burned. It hurt. It burned. It was endless. It was an instant. It was pain. It was heat. It was the end. It was the beginning. It was a death. It was a birth. It hurt. It burned.

His scream was silent, the air consumed by fire, his vocal-chords falling apart into ash, his tongue burning away into smoke.

He was nothing. He was dying. There would be no final words. This was his end.

He gasped in a final breath, drowning in the endless fire, his eyes long since gone, his tongue lost, his blood boiled away.

He was at peace.

XXX

Dumbledore hurriedly sent Fawkes to the Chosen One's aid, hoping desperately that he wouldn't be too late, yet knowing that he already was.

Harry James Potter had committed suicide. His chosen path, dragon-fire.

How could it have gone so wrong? It wasn't supposed to be like this! He was supposed to have made it through the tournament so that the False Moody could steal him away to revive his master. What were they supposed to do without their prophesied savior? How could the Light succeed without its martyr's destruction of the Dark Lord?

This was all _wrong_!

XXX

Hermione stared in horror along with the rest of the audience as the boy who'd saved her life, who was her closest friend, the boy whom she'd been avoiding, took his own life rather than participate in a tournament that he'd never signed up for.

It was supposed to be _safe_! That's what Dumbledore had said! He'd lied to them! He'd lied to them all! Harry was dying!

Tears streaming down her face, her eyes still focused on the fire, Hermione raged in her despair.

This was what the greatest wizard in generations had accomplished? Turning a happy, caring, loving boy suicidal?

And with her despair, with her horror, with her anger, Hermione realized that she hated this. She hated this place. She hated Hogwarts. She hated the teacher's who allowed it to happen. She hated magic. She hated purebloods. She hated it. She hated it _all_. They took away Harry. They took away her brother.

She hadn't even been allowed to apologize.

XXX

Something touched the fire. A soothing touch in a world of fire and pain.

Harry was at peace.

Death was not important. It was merely a transition.

It pulled.

It hurt. It burned. And yet it still pulled. It would not give up. It would not give in.

The briefest snatches of phoenix song were viciously batted aside by the pull.

It hurt. It burned. The pull remained, the soothing touch not giving in to the endless fire.

_I'm sorry._ A voice, heavy in despair, horrible in its desperation briefly joined the pull.

Harry saw white feathers, dancing across his vision, whispering soothingly of endless skies.

He let go. Let the fire and the pull choose where he went, he was at peace.

XXX

Fawkes returned, looking dazed, and Dumbledore suppressed a sudden urge to growl at the bird.

If it'd realized what was going on before he did, it could've saved their Chosen One.

Frowning as he caught the briefest glimpse of what looked like white feathers in the plume of fire, he dismissed the notion immediately. No, he should continue to more important problems. Perhaps he could convince Gringotts that the Potter fortune should go to the aid of the Light. Yes, that was an important step. Almost as important as how he was going to spin this foolish sacrifice and destruction of his plans into something useful.

The fire finally cut off, and Dumbledore craned his neck to get a better view of what would be the remains of their savior.

Fifteen years of plotting, ruined because of a foolish child. The dragon would be executed, of course. Couldn't let such a scandal go without some manner of revenge.

XXX

Harry stared up at the blue sky, at the white clouds floating gently above them all.

He ignored the dragon, the mother who'd defended her young from a potential threat. He ignored the audience and their exclamations of surprise and awe.

The sky was calling to him.

He turned to the source of the white feathers. The one who wouldn't let him fall into the endless fire.

Hedwig tilted her head, asking silently whether he was planning on doing something or not. He smiled at her. His first friend. His most loyal friend.

He knew he was burning still, embers smoldering all over, but that didn't matter. Only the sky mattered. And the beautiful white wings of his personal angel.

Glancing back towards the dragon, he met its eyes.

"I'm free. Magic is nothing. Magic is everything. My name is _Harry_." His name was sung, a sound of survival and struggle, of abandonment and hardship, of peace in soaring through the endless sky.

Harry turned to the Goblet of Fire that stood proudly by the judges.

"And I am bound by _none_." The last word was growled, and fire sprung from the goblet, raging red with unforgiving black.

With a final sound akin to thunder, the goblet disintegrated.

He turned again to meet Hedwig's calm eyes, still ignoring the embers on his robes. She gazed at him, and he sighed heavily, knowing better than to argue.

"Who called for me?" He asked the audience carefully, his eyes roaming across all those gathered, judging them, passing them by.

Dumbledore stood in his seat, and opened his mouth.

"Don't lie." Harry interrupted him. "I asked who _called for me_?" His voice descended again into the song, a sound of despair, of horror and desperation, of abandoning their ideals for a loved one, of watching their family burn over an argument that they should never have had.

The gathered stared at the boy in front of them. The boy who spoke in a language that wasn't human. The boy who lived through dragon-fire. The boy who rejected Albus Dumbledore.

"I-I did." Tears were still running freely down her cheeks. Horror and relief were mixing together in her eyes. But Hermione still stood, still met his inquiring gaze.

Harry smiled. It was a sad smile, filled with sympathy. "Then come. We're leaving." He held out a hand to her.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, then she was moving, and suddenly she had jumped into the arena, not even noticing the Headmaster who tried to stop her.

Harry caught her before she hit the ground, and she launched herself into his chest, sobs wracking her frame. He gently rubbed her back, not bothering with the rest of those watching, nor bothering to acknowledge the still-present dragon.

Turning towards Hedwig as she made a soft sound, her beak nipping gently at his ear, Harry nodded calmly.

"Goodbye Magical Britain. May you tear yourselves to shreds for your sins." And with that, he picked up Hermione into his arms, and the three of them dissolved into a cloud of white feathers.

XXX

XXX

Story: [Harry Zombie Job]

Summary: Harry does some work in the Curse Breaker profession. Specialization: Inferi.

XXX

Perhaps the most common way of battling inferi or undead was with fire, therefore, it was hardly surprising that any creator of the undead worth their salt, would take usage of fire into account when making them.

Normally, the way to do this is to ward them against fire or heat. But there are numerous other ways for this to be accomplished, such as creating wards around where they exist in order to make flames a very unfortunate choice of magic, or even dressing them in fire-proof material.

It could only be the mind of a sick genius that reacted to this common practice and decided to hide extremely flammable gas _inside_ of the inferi created, thus making them into living bombs for anyone unfortunate enough to attempt the standard approach.

Of course, hiding flammable gas inside of an undead body is a lot of work, and it might not last very long as the gas will most likely find some way to escape if left alone for long enough. But, in an enclosed environment, without any experience on just how long such a deterioration of flammability would take, nor the means to find a rough estimate at their date of creation... well, it definitely canceled out fire as an option.

Even if none of the inferi had the gas within them any longer, the air would still be saturated enough with gas for them to blow themselves up the moment they tried anything.

Harry was willing to admit that there was a certain sense of satisfaction in not falling for the trick, and actually being able to calmly explain to the rest of the rookies why one of their less experienced companions had been tackled to floor the moment he began trying to cast an Incendio.

The fact that they'd spent a few minutes staring at the three more experienced members of the team with awe was really just a nice bonus. It wouldn't even have been that had they not been inaccessible to the undead at that moment. A battlefield was no time to stand around and gape at veterans, it would just get them all killed.

He really wished that they hadn't been saddled with newbies. This was going to be a fairly long mission, and he could easily hear the bitterly sarcastic voice of his late teammate, commenting on the likelihood that one of them would snap and try to kill everyone.

It wasn't as unlikely as he'd first imagined when he'd heard the man's muttering about himself when he'd been new. Being surrounded on all side by undead monstrosities, trapped in an oppressive and nervous environment, smelling rotting flesh, and knowing that there was a distinct chance they wouldn't live to see the dawn. Harry had ended up stabbing an older man through the neck when he'd tried to kill them.

He didn't blame the man, and none of the others on the team blamed him for stabbing him. One had thanked him, one had gone out to kill a few inferi to relieve the tension, and the man that would become something like a mentor to him had squeezed his shoulder and told him that such was life.

So, getting stranded on a potentially very long mission, in an in fact _unusually_ unpleasant environment – which was saying something – with a bunch of inexperienced newbies... Harry really hoped that they wouldn't get them all killed, and he really hated the idiot who'd thought that they didn't need experienced people on this job.

Thankfully, the idiot in question wasn't in the near enough vicinity that Harry could maim them, meaning that he would have extra motivation for surviving this spectacle, if only to gut the bastard once he got back out.

Harry wasn't entirely sure when he'd learned to cast his spells silently. Somewhere between the beginning and when one of the old crew patted him on the back and told him that if he was learning, then he should probably learn a summoning charm wandlessly too.

It was easy doing it silently, it was just the same damn spells repeated into infinity, only now without slowly turning your vocal-chords into barbed wire. Doing things wandlessly was a lot more complicated, yet a lot more simple. You had to _want_ stuff to happen, and then they happened. It was the antithesis to everything they'd learned at Hogwarts, no fancy wand movements, no correct pronunciation, no book-based theoretical stuff, just you and your will.

Harry learned it the moment he'd figured that out, much to the casual annoyance of his more experienced colleagues.

Harry shook his head, dismissing the thoughts of past times, and motioned for everyone to move.

Then he charged.

It wasn't because he was a foolish Gryffindor, or because he didn't know what 'cover' meant, or because he had some idiotic idea of fighting the inferi head-on. It was simple experience.

The moment the battle started, the inferi would come out in mass. And then they'd be forced back, not accomplishing their objective, but still risking being overrun in their retreat. Better to charge straight ahead and blast everything that moved.

Of course, not every plan was fool-proof, and there was a certain chance that the creator of the inferi had laid out traps against this kind of charge, but Harry was managing to sling a few detection spells around as well, so hopefully that wouldn't be a problem.

The smell of blood, flammable gas, and what might've been rotting blood – Harry wasn't entirely sure if it smelled like that, but it sounded likely enough since it was coming from some kind of sickly-looking liquid – filled the air as the seven of them charged forward.

It was hard to say if undead could die, but Harry knew that the magic holding them together could be forced to give up, and he was endlessly thankful that the horror-stories he'd heard of arms bereft of a body still crawling around to strangle you in your sleep were just stories. He still made damn sure not to sleep in the vicinity of dismembered limbs though.

Ignoring how some of the sickly-looking blackish liquid made its way onto him as he destroyed as many undead as he could without stopping, Harry wondered briefly if perhaps he might want to consider a different career. A career that wouldn't make him wish for the heavenly smells of fish-guts and puke.

XXX


	6. Harry, the Ashikabi of Life

Harry the Ashikabi of Life

Summary: Harry gets dumped in Japan by the Dursleys a few months before his eleventh birthday. Walking alone on the streets, he answers the call of a little girl in duress. One Kusano, Sekirei number 108. By the time his Hogwarts letter arrives his priorities are... unusual.

Genre: Fluff? I have no idea.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

XXX

Harry stared at the giant forest stretching out in front of him.

The trees looked ancient, but he was fairly certain that they hadn't been covering the mid-city park a few days ago.

Even so, that didn't really matter to him. There was a girl in there. She was scared, she was lonely, she was calling to him.

He needed to find her.

Harry wasn't sure what he should do after he'd found her, knowing that he didn't really have anywhere to go afterwards. The Dursleys had apparently 'forgotten' to buy him a return ticket to England, and simply dumped him on the streets, Vernon grinning widely the entire time.

That had been two days ago, and he'd been trying to catch a few moments of sleep in a street corner when she'd first called for him.

Harry was a few weeks shy of eleven years old, and he knew enough to be aware that the street wasn't a good place to live in, but it wasn't as if he had any other relatives, or any money with which to pay for a room.

However, all of that was irrelevant. Now he needed to find her, then he could consider where to go from there.

Nodding resolutely to himself, Harry took a deep breath and took off into the forest, easily sneaking past the armed forces surrounding what had once been a park. Harry was good at sneaking, having had a lot of practice doing so in order to avoid the Dursleys' wrath.

The forest was beautiful, but... panicky, almost. It was like the trees were afraid, and lonely, and terribly worried.

It made sense, Harry supposed, that the trees she'd created felt what she felt.

Brushing his fingers along the bark of a tree, Harry tried to tell her that he was coming to help her.

Nothing changed, but he hurried off in a slightly different direction than the one he'd been going in previously.

She was still calling. He needed to hurry.

XXX

Minato stared at the forest, still frowning at the thought of a little girl being hounded by the other Ashikabi like this.

Seo's presence didn't really help matters, even if he _was_ technically there to help. The guy looked far too much like a cliched bad guy for Minato's peace of mind.

Even so, he'd help get her out of there, so that she could find her Ashikabi on her own terms.

XXX

It'd all happened so fast.

He'd finally found her, hidden seemingly _within_ a tree, when the woman with the scythe appeared.

She looked scary, and she didn't seem nice.

Harry knew that he couldn't fight her, easily interpreting her as stronger, faster, and more skilled. No, he really didn't know how he could pose any kind of threat to the woman whatsoever.

And then the girl he was there to help launched herself at him, and Harry – in a seemingly accidental way – lost his first kiss.

Then she grew wings, and there were flowers everywhere, and the woman got really really angry, and suddenly there was a big man and two other women – who looked like a lot alike – and another younger man.

They fought her off by throwing lightning at the scythe-woman, and suddenly Harry was being questioned.

Unfortunately, Harry didn't really speak Japanese so he didn't really know what they were talking about, until the bigger man began switching languages, finally landing on English. That was when Harry first heard of the definition of Sekirei, and how he was an Ashikabi, and that there was something called the Sekirei Plan.

It was quickly decided that he would be following them to meet some kind of landlady, which Harry thought was good, because he didn't like sleeping on the street.

XXX

Miya stared at Seo with a confused expression, not really understanding what he'd just explained to her. She understood the separate words, she vaguely understood the meaning, but she didn't understand what it had to do with what was happening as it couldn't actually happen in anything but an absolutely absurd existence that she didn't frequent.

The young boy that Seo had brought home with him _did_ seem a bit skinny, and he was definitely not wearing clothes that had been designed with him in mind, and the young Sekirei next to him _was_ definitely clinging to him much like a normal Sekirei would cling to their Ashikabi, but Seo obviously had to be lying.

Ashikabi weren't supposed to be ten year olds! And ten year olds weren't supposed to have 'no place to go'! Ten year olds should be with their parents, their family, not _sleeping on the street_!

However, despite the mixture of confusion and furious outrage, Miya managed to smile at the scared little Ashikabi.

Hopefully, they would manage to get away from the Plan, because she really didn't like the thought of this young boy getting involved in a fight between Sekirei, no matter how distantly.

XXX

Harry didn't really understand what the 'Sekirei Plan' was about, or why they should fight. Kusano shouldn't have to risk getting hurt.

The burly man that spoke English seemed very amused when Harry tried to explain this, but admitted that he agreed with him after Harry started frowning.

Harry wondered briefly if his frown had some kind of special ability, but quickly dismissed the thought. He'd frowned a lot during his life, and it rarely led to anything more than smiling did. Harry's expressions were, if anything, extremely ineffective.

It was a bit annoying, as he was fairly sure that it meant that the man was making fun of him by laughing at him even when he agreed from the beginning.

Harry thought that the man was an idiot.

Better than the Dursleys by _far_, but still an idiot.

Considering the way that the landlady smirked victoriously when he called the man on his idiocy, she agreed with him. Of course, then he got distracted by Kusano demanding to be patted on the head like she'd seen the younger man do to the pretty young woman that'd helped them out of the forest.

Harry didn't mind patting Kusano on the head. It was pleasant.

XXX

"You know..." Seo started in Japanese as the two kids disappeared into their own world. "Those two are disgustingly cute together."

Miya rapped him over the head with a ladle for his phrasing, but didn't appear to disagree.

"What's going to happen from here on?" Minato asked the question on everyone's minds.

"Well... either they join the Plan, and most likely lose spectacularly considering their lack of combat ability, or they _don't_ join the Plan and who knows what will happen." Seo shrugged.

"They don't really have anywhere to go." Miya pointed out with a sigh. "So regardless of their choice, they'll probably be staying here."

"Yeah." Seo agreed. "Even if we got them out of the city, it wouldn't matter if they don't have anywhere to escape to. They're too young to live on their own." He winced as he remembered how the kid had apparently been wandering the streets for several days before they'd found him with his newly winged Sekirei. "At least not without the social services getting involved."

"So, with no place left to turn, they'll stay at the inn." Minato nodded with a conflicted expression. "I wonder if there's any way to find his relatives?" He mused with a peculiar glint in his eyes.

A glint that reminded those present far too much of an angered Miya for any of their comforts.

"Possibly." Seo admitted with a sigh. "But even if we find them, the law means that there'll be a bunch of red tape to make the kid's life harder, and then he'll most likely end up at an orphanage. And that's not even including what MBI might have to say about it."

Minato frowned at that, but let his shoulders slump with a defeated sigh.

"I really think this Sekirei Plan is going to go to hell, somehow." He said with an annoyed face. "It just makes little to no sense whatsoever. And then you let kids get mixed up in it?" He shook his head in disgust.

The others present agreed completely.

XXX

Matsu had scared Kusano, and even if it hadn't been on purpose, Harry wasn't feeling very forgiving of this fact.

Most of the Izumo Inn's residents were quietly amused by this, saying things about how cute he looked when he was being protective, but Harry had learned to ignore them. Not because they were mean, but rather because he rarely had any idea what they were talking about, and it made him somewhat wary whenever they tried to hug him.

Harry didn't really mind the hugs as such, but there was a certain lack of oxygen that he was quickly coming to relate to the soft warmth of a woman's arms. Harry wasn't quite sure why the burly idiot called Seo kept muttering about how 'lucky' he was whenever he was forced to fight for air.

It'd been a bit over a week since he and Kusano had first moved in, and Harry was slowly becoming rather fond of the kitchen, now that there was no angry aunt yelling at him for taking too long or not being good enough. It helped a lot to see Kuu's face lit up whenever she ate something especially tasty.

Harry didn't really understand what this 'love' thing that Musubi kept going on about was, having no real experience with the concept, but he enjoyed the time he spent with Kuu, even when it was spent doing nothing at all. Probably _especially_ then.

Harry liked seeing his Sekirei happy, and Kuu liked seeing her Ashikabi happy.

It was a bit odd for Harry, to feel like he belonged somewhere. He did as many chores as possible at the Dursleys, he slept in his cupboard, he wasn't allowed gifts of any sort, he wasn't supposed to fight back against Dudley when he wanted to hurt him. Harry knew a lot of _rules_ from when he'd lived at the Dursleys, but they'd always complained about his existence, always blamed him for things he had no control over.

It's not so much 'belonging' when your only place is as an absolute scapegoat to all the world's evils.

No, this was Harry's first venture into the idea of belonging anywhere. He was Kuu's Ashikabi, kitchen aide, and second target for wearing Uzume's strange outfits. Supposedly, he looked cute in them, but Harry had by then learned to ignore most of what they told him, and had instead focused on how adorable Kuu had looked.

Since Kuu looked very adorable indeed, this wasn't much of a problem.

Still, Harry had taken a somewhat calculating suspicious approach to Matsu's appearance, mostly because she'd scared Kuu... once... by accident...

Okay, so maybe Harry was overreacting, but Kuu had been _scared_, so there!

Harry might have lived a harsh life and aged beyond his years, but he was still a few weeks shy of eleven, and he'd finally found someone he cared about. So with Matsu behaving like she tended to do, it was hardly surprising that there'd been a series of rather childish acts between the two of them.

Seriously, the hacker was like _way_ older than he was, so she should obviously fold first. And so their peculiar hostilities continued. Much to the amusement of all those watching.

XXX

It was on the day that Minato returned with a blonde woman who was clinging to him that Harry got his first letter.

It was addressed for his room, much to the suspiciously unsettled residents, and it told him that he was a wizard.

Harry didn't really understand what that meant, seeing as how Harry was an Ashikabi, and nobody else called Ashikabi wizards. It also said something about 'awaiting his owl' which sounded stupid.

Needless to say, the Izumo Inn was brought in on this strange letter, and once it'd been translated into Japanese by Matsu – Harry had picked up on the language at a remarkable speed, but he wasn't really capable of reading or writing anything yet – they'd all come to the conclusion that it was all very suspicious, but unlikely to be related to the MBI.

Seo had been called in, once Matsu failed to find anything about the name of the school, citing something about it resembling the word 'hogwash' and then adding warts to the image.

Unfortunately, the man didn't seem to have any more knowledge on this supposed school for wizards, but commented absently that if there _were_ wizards out there, then they were most likely very very good at hiding from sight.

There'd been some more cautious ideas of it being a trap set by some of the MBI's competitors, pointing out that they might believe an underage Ashikabi might be an easy way of getting a hold on a Sekirei.

Harry was understandably wary of such a thing.

They decided to ignore the letter.

The next day, they got more.

XXX

Harry stared suspiciously at the giant of a man who'd appeared at their doorstep in the middle of the night, introducing himself as Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts.

He didn't speak anything but English apparently, and even that language he mangled into an unrecognizable mess, this caused quite a bit of miscommunication until Seo was called in.

Miya, Homura, Harry, and Matsu all spoke reasonably fluent English, and Miya could be really really scary when she wanted to be, but Seo was kind of useful to have around. Despite being an idiot. Hell, he'd even taught Harry how to throw a proper punch when asked.

Hagrid seemed friendly enough, having even brought a cake for Harry's birthday, though he'd apparently sat on it by accident at some point during his trip. The fact that he'd told Harry a bit about his parents was... soothing, like scratching an itch that'd been bugging him for a very long time.

No, the problem with Rubeus Hagrid was that he apparently wanted to take Harry back to England.

Without Kusano.

Harry actually heard Kuu growl at the man for even insinuating it as a possibility.

"Kuu is my Sekirei. I'm not leaving without her." Harry's tone was adamant. Unmoving.

Hagrid seemed a bit startled at the tone, having perhaps expected such an objection to be stated with a childish stubbornness, rather than the absolute certainty of someone who would accept no other alternative.

"You're not separating them." Miya interjected before the man tried to convince him to reconsider. "He is her fated Ashikabi. If she stays, he stays."

There were some bickering back and forth between those gathered, before Hagrid finally told them that he'd return with more specific orders after he'd talked it over with the headmaster of the school.

XXX

The Izumo Inn in general wasn't adverse to the idea of sending Harry off to an unknown, secret, magical school in Great Britain. It would keep him and Kusano excluded from the Sekirei Plan, which everyone was by now convinced was bad news.

They were however not entirely sure about the magical part of the school, or how they were going to be able to sneak Kusano along for the ride.

Tsukiumi didn't like the idea of them 'running away', but relented that it was hardly fair to involve children in MBI's game. Uzume seemed disappointedly jealous more than anything, Musubi was cheering happily about their love, Miya looked a bit sad to see them go, Seo wished them luck, Minato worried over them, Matsu appeared contemplative, and the lightning twins had tried to coach Kusano in how to make sure that Harry turned into a 'proper man' – all the time shooting annoyed glares at Seo.

By the time Hagrid arrived with the go-ahead of taking Kusano with him under the assumption that she was 'bonded' to him a lot of hugs were exchanged and much tears were shed.

"Umm..." Hagrid stared at them with a slightly uneasy expression. "It's not like he won't come back for the holidays." The giant pointed out reasonably.

"No he won't." Miya shook her head with a sad expression. "It's better if he disappears cleanly. He'll never be able to enter the 'muggle' world again. It'll be safer that way."

"Safer?" Hagrid frowned at her, suddenly feeling wary.

"We're escaping the Sekirei Plan." Harry explained as he tightly held onto Kuu's hand. "If we return, there'll be no point in having left in the first place."

"Wait. What's this Sekirei Plan-thingy that you're talking about Harry?" The man stared at him with confusion.

"A cruel game, thought up by an insane man, telling all Sekirei to eliminate each other for a grand price." Homura spat out bitterly.

It wasn't so much that Hagrid decided not to pry too deeply, but more that Hagrid proved quite easily distracted, and soon Kusano and Harry were on their way to Magical Britain.

XXX

Diagon Alley was amazing.

So many people, hidden completely from the world. A culture untouched by 'muggles', away from madmen and their equally insane games.

Kusano liked it too, though Hagrid was quickly proving himself to be just as useless a guide as could be expected from someone who appeared to believe non-magical people to be little more than unusually clever animals.

That wasn't to say that Harry _disliked_ Hagrid, he just sighed and thanked his lucky stars that since he'd never see Seo again, he wouldn't be forced to admit that the easy-going man had actually been right about wizards ability to hide. Seo would never let him forget that he'd actually been right about something, no matter how obvious. He suppressed a shiver at the thought.

No, Harry believed Diagon Alley to be an amazing place, but not for the magic that filled its street, or for the life that filled the people wandering it. He found it amazing because he hadn't seen them before. And something _this_ peculiar would definitely have ended up on the news somehow if it'd been made known to the 'muggles'. The fact that it hadn't...

Kusano would be safe here. That was his conclusion. And for no other reason than that, Harry was willing to call London 'Home'.

XXX

Harry smiled as he faced down the goblin.

"You smell." He stated bluntly, ignoring how Hagrid was trying to motion for him to be silent. "Like blood, gold, and greed." His smile began to show a lot more teeth. "I think we can make good business."

The goblin opened its mouth to snarl something insulting about him as he began haggling about the prices for various expenses for things that they seemingly didn't want to grant him, but Harry just grinned wider at the words. He'd listened to Miya, Seo, Tsukiumi, and Homura all go on their own separate cursing streaks over the last few weeks.

He figured that he knew quite a bit more insults than the sharp-toothed little banker.

And he wasn't constrained by any laws or treaties to keep himself civil.

XXX

Hagrid's face hadn't quite managed to regain its original coloring – after he'd lost it all watching Harry curse up a blue streak at the goblins, as they haggled with ever-more absurd numbers – by the time they made it to Ollivander's wand shop.

Harry decided that the gigantic man could probably use a bit more confidence, if he was so affected by someone not even half his height yelling insults at people that barely reached past his knees, regardless of if they were armed to the teeth and famous for violent and bloody rebellions.

Kusano had liked them, so Harry liked them too. It was quite possible that she'd liked them because they had sharp pointy things and looked vicious, rather than because they were nice, or anything silly like that, but that didn't make Harry like them any less.

They'd made Kusano smile and giggle. By the time he exited those doors, Harry had been quite willing to become good friends with the heartless little bastards.

"Ah, Mr Potter. I was wondering when you would show up." A misty voice mused mysteriously from just to the left of Harry's ear.

Harry _moved_.

The world stopped spinning for a moment.

Harry stared at the old man currently occupying the dusty floor, feeling the slightest twinges of guilt as he observed that the man's nose was bleeding quite a bit.

Still, Kusano was frowning at the man, so he ruthlessly squashed whatever regrets he might've had and focused instead on admitting that Seo's lessons in throwing a punch had showed some rather tangible results.

Hagrid stared at him, slack-jawed. "Mr Ollivander!" He finally cried out in a sort of startled horror, helping what was apparently the shop's owner to his feet.

The man received no apology from Harry, but didn't appear to expect one, and so the only one left feeling confused by the exchange was Hagrid. Instead, Ollivander happily distracted himself with finding a wand that would want to choose Harry.

Harry thought that this particular way of phrasing his search was proof that wands were good. Kusano had chosen him, and she was good. Therefore, wands must be good too. It wasn't exactly the most sensible of his logical conclusions, but Kuu seemed to go a bit thoughtful around each wand, and Harry wondered if she might be understanding why the crazy shopkeeper kept randomly telling him to wave the little sticks around.

And if Kuu thought that the wand was good, and the wand chose him like she'd chosen him, then obviously the wand must be good... Though probably not as good as Kuu.

Another wand was placed in his hand, and Harry felt his forehead stinging uncomfortably, then it was removed from his hand before he could give a wave, much too his relief. He didn't like that wand.

Ollivander finally paused, turning a thoughtful frown at Kusano.

"Young miss, I seem to have run out of wands... but I'm curious, might I ask you for a hair?" He looked unsure, but intrigued.

Kuu considered him for a long moment, glancing back towards Harry with a slightly critical glance, before smirking victoriously – she'd been spending too much time around Matsu, Harry decided – and nodded, pulling out a single strand and holding it out to the old man.

Harry was a bit uncomfortable with Kuu handing strands of her hair to strange old men who snuck up on him, but she apparently thought that it was a good idea, and Harry hadn't really ever found Kuu making a _bad_ decision. Except for maybe 'not running away fast enough the first time Miya showed the evil mask-thing and therefore being forced to experience it first-hand', but Harry had done that too, and he thought it might've been a good decision in hindsight, because now he would never fear anything _else_ ever again.

Scary demon-landlady.

The moment Ollivander took the strand of her hair in his hands, he got an almost enthralled look on his face, before shaking his head slowly in awe.

"Truly, how could I've thought anything else would match?" He wondered with a small smile.

Then he flicked the hair, and Kuu's hair _bloomed_, like the flowers of their first kiss, and then there was a wand in Ollivander's hands.

"I... don't believe it's my place to accept payment for this wand." He mused as he gave the joyfully singing wand to Harry. "But I do hope that you take care of it."

Harry just nodded, too distracted by the warmth of the silently singing wood in his hands to bother feeling offended at the thought of not taking care of _Kuu_. Because the wand was definitely his Sekirei. Perhaps not in mind, or in body, but without hesitation in soul.

Kuu made a contently smug noise as she grabbed onto his other hand, letting him hold both Kuu and _Kuu_ in his hands at the same time.

For the first time since they'd left the Izumo Inn, Harry felt absolutely sure that they'd be fine.

XXX

Harry smiled as he caught a glimpse of the wand-holster on his arm.

Sure, Ollivander might not have made the best first impression, but Kuu didn't mind him, so Harry was sort of willing to forgive the crazy old man. The fact that he'd mentioned acquiring a wand-holster to keep _Kuu_ from being stolen from him, and the conspiratorial grin they'd shared as the wandmaker admitted that every wand he sold had something called the Trace on it, helped quite a bit.

Ollivander hadn't _sold_ him a wand, he'd merely pointed out that he already had one. Therefore, there was no Trace on it, which was relieving to Harry whose wariness of the world could easily touch upon paranoia from time to time.

Hagrid had fortunately missed this exchange of words, as the man would most likely have fretted endlessly over the potential consequences.

They'd visited Madam Malkins to get his uniform, and something for Kuu so that she didn't stick out too much. So now they blended in rather well with the crowds of Diagon Alley, as Harry had kind of immediately upon realizing that his scar made him stand out, found something to hide it with. It wouldn't do to attract too much attention. They were there to hide from MBI after all, and the less people who knew that they were there, the better.

XXX

It'd been easy to find their way to Platform 9 ¾, partly because Kusano could smell the portal, and partly because Harry had asked Hagrid why their tickets were weird.

Nobody had found out that the famous Harry Potter was on the train, which suited Harry rather well, as it meant that the odds of someone noticing them in particular would thereby lessen.

Oh, he knew that MBI wouldn't find him in the Magical World, but it was best not to take chances when they could be avoided.

Harry draped an arm around Kusano's shoulders as she leaned into him, not caring in the least that he might just have insulted the first year redhead who'd been looking for seating. Kuu hadn't liked him, so Harry made him stay away. She might've thought his hair color was stupid, or disliked his potential personality, or been annoyed at him for being taller than her, her reasons didn't matter to Harry, because she'd disliked the redhead, and that was enough for him.

"Umm, have you seen a toad?" Another boy asked, looking frightened and lost and embarrassed, all rolled into one.

Harry felt a brief stab of sympathy at the expression, as it reminded him of two days spent walking through unfamiliar streets in a far away country where he didn't know the language. It wasn't a happy memory, even if it _did_ lead him to Kusano's side in the end.

"No, sorry." He shook his head.

"Oh." The boy slumped a bit.

"Toad explores!" Kuu suddenly exclaimed, showing off that she'd managed to pick up at least some English since they came here.

Neville blinked at her, looking confused.

"I think she means that your toad will show up on its own, when it feels like it." Harry tried to translate, his lips twitching in an amused way as Kuu began to nod enthusiastically at his words.

"Ah, well, I'm Neville Longbottom." He introduced himself.

"Harry Potter." Harry answered in turn, before motioning to his Sekirei. "And this is Kusano."

Kuu beamed at the obviously startled boy, looking happy and content as she snuggled a bit closer into Harry's side.

Neville appeared curious about Kusano, clearly noticing that she was younger than them, and that she hadn't been introduced with a surname, but he kept his peace, seemingly aware that sometimes it wasn't polite to ask.

And so the journey continued, Harry and Neville discussed what they expected to see at Hogwarts, what classes they might be good with, and the potential culture clashes between muggleborns and purebloods. Kusano seemed content to listen, asking only a few questions, most of them related to the ghosts that were so famously wandering Hogwarts' halls.

Hopefully, none of the ghosts would be scary, because apparently there didn't seem to be anything you could do against them, and Harry didn't want Kuu to get scared.

Other than that, they discussed where they might be Sorted, Neville fearing that he might end up in Hufflepuff because he wasn't brave enough, and Harry remembering that bravery was the kind of thing that would draw attention and would put himself at risk, which would make Kuu upset, and thereby concluding that he didn't want to go to Gryffindor even if he got Sorted there.

Neville seemed a bit scandalized by this, but Harry was adamant, and finally he admitted that being Sorted into Hufflepuff wouldn't be a bad thing, if they were truly as loyal to each other as Harry appeared to be to Kuu.

XXX

"First years! First years over here!" Hagrid's voice called out as they emerged from the train.

Harry, Kuu, and Neville happily made their way over to the friendly giant.

They were quickly ordered into boats, and their group was joined by a fourth member, this one possessing bushy hair and buckteeth. She still looked rather attractive, Harry decided as he recalled Seo's useless lessons about women. Useless, partly because it was Seo giving them, partly because most of them would land him in trouble with the scary demon-landlady, and partly because Kuu was pretty much the only one Harry cared about.

Sure, he liked all the residents at Izumo Inn, having more or less adopted them as family during the time he spent there, but Kuu was his Sekirei, and that made her infinitely more important.

The girl introduced herself briefly as Hermione Granger, and she didn't seem to understand that some questions weren't polite to ask. Which basically translated into her trying to hound Kusano about why she looked younger than them, and why she didn't have surname, and where she came from, and why she was always carrying around a small plant.

Harry had forgotten that Kuu carried around a plant, it'd sort of become such a regular thing for her to do that he didn't register it anymore. In order to make up for any potential blunder he'd made in regards to Kuu's plant, he told her that it was a very nice plant.

Kusano beamed proudly at him, which Harry concluded to mean that she'd grown it herself. Hermione seemed quite frustrated at her questions being blatantly ignored by the two of them – Kusano in large part due to the language barrier – and Neville seemed torn between amusement and a slightly frantic need for everyone to get along.

By the time they made it to the Great Hall, Hermione had concluded that she really didn't like Harry or Kusano, but that Neville was alright. Neville had found his toad, Trevor, and was trying to make sure that it didn't run off again. And Harry was for the first time actually feeling rather impressed with magic itself, rather than its practitioners ability to hide.

The ceiling looked neat.

Then the worn old hat in the middle of the Hall started to sing, a song explaining the House Sorting system a bit more in depth than Professor McGonagall's brief assurance that they were all very good Houses to be sorted into.

Harry nodded along with the song, reaffirming his desire to aim for Hufflepuff.

Slytherin wanted to _do_ things, to become famous, which was directly contradictory to Harry's goal of comfortable obscurity. Ravenclaw cared little for events, as long as they learned new things, which seemed in direct violation of Harry's rather well-developed survival instincts. Gryffindor was filled with people doing stupidly brave things for no reason, which would worry Kusano and was therefore a big no-no. This only really left Hufflepuff, the House that was always ignored. In other words it was _perfect_.

Hermione was Sorted into Ravenclaw, not surprising anyone who'd spent more than five minutes in her presence, and Neville was Sorted into Gryffindor, the House he'd thought to be out of his league.

Then: "Potter, Harry."

Silence. Then the students of Hogwarts all craned their necks to get a good look at the Boy-Who-Lived, and whispers spread like wildfire.

Kuu frowned at them, drawing a thankful smile and the briefest of amused chuckles from Harry. Hopefully his fame would die down soon, otherwise obscurity would be so _difficult_ to reach.

Leaving Kusano behind with a final pat on the head, Harry made his way to the Sorting Hat.

Sitting down, the Great Hall disappeared as Harry's eyes were covered by the Hat's brim.

_"Hm? Oh, Mr Potter."_ A voice mused curiously. _"An interesting mind you've got here. Hufflepuff you say?"_

"Please." Harry answered silently.

_"Well, you certainly have the loyalty for it."_ The Hat admitted. _"Got quite a bit of cunning and bravery as well, but yes, that wouldn't be very advantageous for your goal. How interesting, I so rarely get requests for Helga's House. Take care of your fated one in- _HUFFLEPUFF!"

Harry calmly removed his Hat, ignoring the stunned audience, though sending a small smile towards the Gryffindor table and the knowing look crossing Neville's face, before making his way back to the line of the First Years waiting to be Sorted.

This caused quite a bit of confusion, but Harry simply took Kuu's hand in his own and began to walk over to the Hufflepuff table.

This caused what could almost be described as pandemonium.

"Mr Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed angrily. "She has not been Sorted!"

Harry paused, calmly turning back towards the angry Professor. "She's not a student." He pointed out with a skeptical expression. "So I really don't see the point."

The woman now looked caught somewhere in between exploding and fainting away, and the Hall again burst into frenzied whispers.

Rolling his eyes as everyone seemed to immediately conclude that Kuu was a muggle and therefore shouldn't be in the presence of magic, Harry turned to Kusano.

"Kuu?" He asked his Sekirei for permission, and got it with a cheerfully enthusiastic nod.

So he kissed her. On the lips. In front of the entire school.

And wings of soothing light exploded from her back. Flowers bloomed _everywhere_, bringing life to the deadened halls of the ancient castle. Benches and tables all seemed to come alive as even a few trees were suddenly added to the school's interior.

Then her wings faded away, and she was left with a positively smug expression on her face, and a plant that seemed perhaps a bit bigger than it had been originally, still carried around in her arms.

Harry smiled, feeling warm and happy and all together pleased with the world, before taking Kuu's hand in his own and again leading them towards the Hufflepuff table.

Nobody would ever call his Sekirei a muggle again.

XXX

Hufflepuff was an odd House for Harry. It wasn't that they were casually looked down upon, or that they were ignored by others, Harry was used to being looked down upon, both by his relatives and by his teachers – who believed him to be a trouble-child and a charity case in equal measures – and being ignored was by far a more pleasant situation than to be actively targeted.

It was just that they kept trying to make friends with him.

Harry didn't really have friends. He had Kuu. He'd also had Izumo Inn, for a few weeks, but he'd never had _friends_, and didn't really see the point of having such things when Kuu was so infinitely better.

Obviously, he could admit to being slightly biased, but that didn't change his opinion on the matter.

Hufflepuff though, wouldn't let him drift off together with Kuu without interfering. This was slowly making Harry come to the conclusion that humanity as a whole was extremely overrated, and that the moment he could figure out how to do it, he'd be retreating to Antarctica with Kuu for the rest of his life. Or well, any other sufficiently population-starved location that Kuu was comfortable with.

Izumo Inn had never _interfered_ with his time with Kuu. They'd had some annoying rules about who they were allowed and not allowed to take baths with, and there'd been another – largely ignored – rule trying to convince them that they were supposed to sleep in separate rooms, and sometimes they'd be silently observed with smiles by the older population. But Izumo Inn never _interfered_ in their time together.

You didn't separate an Ashikabi from their Sekirei, it just wasn't done.

So, the idea that Kuu was supposed to sleep in some inaccessible room away from him had caused the two of them to camp out in the common room with pillows and blankets. The giggling girls' insistence that Kuu talk to them privately was ignored. The boys disapproving of Harry not talking about boy-things was responded to with frosty glares. And the elders' attempts to make peace between all of them largely fell on deaf ears.

Their Head of House was a pleasant woman, and she worked with plants, and Kuu liked her, but that didn't make either of them any more inclined to follow the 'rules' that made no sense. Like 'not camping out in the common room'. They wouldn't camp out in the common room if they were allowed in one of their beds, but they weren't, so they were camping out in the common room. It was simple.

Classes were interesting, even if virtually every teacher present frowned at Kuu's presence during their lessons. Harry had also publicly declared that unless the greasy-haired bat apologized to Kuu, he wouldn't be taking his class. The Headmaster had tried to placate him, but the teacher hadn't apologized, and Kuu never liked the bearded old man either, so Harry resolutely refused.

Transfiguration was difficult, and whilst Harry could understand the usefulness of suddenly becoming something different in order to shake off pursuers – Seo had explained the concept to him previously – turning matches into needles was such an utter waste of resources. Matches were far more important than needles, they could keep you warm when you were stuck living on the street, and that was way better than being able to be combined with thread in order to patch up clothes – though admittedly useful in its own way.

Potions he hadn't really seen a point in at all, figuring that there wasn't a lot of ways to use a potion in order to hide or flee from pursuers. Thus, in large part pointless.

Astronomy wasn't very useful either – other than to learn to navigate by the stars, and that shouldn't be relevant in this day and age – but he supposed that it was kind of nice to sit together with Kuu and stare up at the sky from which she technically originated from, so Harry wasn't really complaining.

History of Magic told them absolutely nothing, but Harry had worked a way around the stiff backs everyone got during the lessons by bringing pillows for him and Kuu to sleep on as the mindlessly boring ghost rambled. His classmates were a mixture of jealous and outraged.

Charms was fascinating, and after the time where Harry had stayed after class in order to ask if there were ways to hide using Charms – and gotten some very solid leads on just that kind of magic – Harry was certain that they'd found the single most important class on the curriculum. Flitwick being nice and well-liked by Kuu, was also a pleasant bonus.

Herbology was, perhaps not the most useful of classes, but easily the one the two enjoyed the most. The teacher was pleasant, the material was a hobby for both of them, and the environment was comfortably soothing.

Defense Against Dark Arts sounded important from the way people kept going on about it, but it seemed geared around inconveniencing people, or fighting. Fighting being something that Harry didn't want to do, as it made Kuu worry. Harry therefore classified it as a perhaps useful class, but in dire need of a teacher that Kuu didn't react to by growling at them. Still, since Quirrell hadn't actively insulted either of them, Harry wasn't allowed to skip the class.

Needless to say, Hogwarts was very confused on what to make of the Boy-Who-Lived and the Small-Girl-With-A-Plant.

Snape wanted him out of Hogwarts on his nose. Flitwick liked the two of them, and was intrigued by their bond and what it might mean. McGonagall didn't think they were taking her class seriously enough, having read a report on Harry's belief of matches being superior to needles. Sprout was frustrated, but confused about her two badgers and their actions.

Quirrell wanted the growling girl removed from his classroom, since she disturbed him. Binns didn't know who they were talking about, having not read about new things happening since his death – which was long before Voldemort first made an entrance. Sinistra had developed a bit of a soft spot for the cute girl who always fell asleep in her class – since she wasn't a student, there wasn't any real reason for her to stay awake. And Dumbledore was quite upset at how easily he was being brushed off as unimportant.

Filch didn't like them, but he hated everyone, so that was hardly a surprise. Hagrid liked them, but Hagrid liked everyone who wasn't a Slytherin almost by default, so that wasn't a surprise either.

In the end, despite of what they felt about the pair, they were Hufflepuffs, and everyone knew that Hufflepuffs don't really matter in the long run.

Which really just proved Harry's point. It was the ultimate House for someone who wanted to hide in obscurity.

XXX

**A/n: I started writing this after having read several Harry Potter/Sekirei crossovers, where Harry is **_**old**_** when he travels to Japan. Him being young sounded far more amusing, so that's what I wrote. Unfortunately, I don't really know where to go from there so it faded away rather quick.**

**Below is Harry's confrontation of Quirrell, which I wrote to the awesomeness that is Meatloaf, cause I felt like it.**

XXX

Kuu was hurt.

His Sekirei. His fated one. Kuu was hurt.

Perhaps the man with two faces noticed the sudden change in the young boy's eyes, but him noticing didn't really matter either way. Because he'd _hurt Kuu_. And Harry was going to _rip him into shreds_!

He was just an Ashikabi, he could never compare to the unstoppable powers of a Sekirei, but this man in front of him wasn't a Sekirei. And Kuu worrying over him wouldn't matter if Kuu was already hurt.

Therefore, against all that he'd promised, against all that he'd aimed for, against his entire plan to hide away in obscurity. Harry James Potter declared war on Lord Voldemort.

Quirrell opened his mouth to mock his foolish declaration, already knowing that his master would destroy this pathetic little brat.

And Harry met his eyes.

The world was drowned.

The world was burned.

The world was torn.

The world was crumpled.

And green eyes that shone like hellfire stared down from the heavens.

Quirinus Quirrell had a bare instant to reflect on his life and curse the ramblings of a madman, because even if power truly was all that existed in this world, there were those that had it and would only use it against you if you _angered them_. And Harry James Potter's rage burned like the sun.

Then the possessed professor's molecules exploded at the speed of light, and the lingering soul of Voldemort had his mind torn asunder in the backlash.

Because you don't touch the fated love of a Chosen One without repercussions.


	7. Collection Chapter 3

An Incomplete Potter Collection ch Collection 3

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A Magical Nation Reborn / The Laws of the New Generation  
Harry Zombie Slayer  
Defeat of Gellert Grindelwald  
Insanity  
This Means War  
A Short HHr Story

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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Story: [A Magical Nation Reborn / The Laws of the New Generation]

Summary: Turns out, there are laws surrounding the Ministry failing to uphold itself, and so during Harry's desperate attempt to save his godfather in Fifth Year, he stumbles on the method to change his corrupt world.

Genre: Adventure?

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Harry Potter had just had his godfather die in front of his eyes and then been told by the Headmaster that he would be taking care of everything. But with Fudge beginning to go on about how they didn't have clearance for being there, Harry stopped listening.

"We just saved the goddamn Ministry, when it couldn't bother to save itself!" Harry shouted back at the man that he could honestly say never seemed to have made a single correct choice ever. "You imprisoned an innocent man to be seen doing something! You placed Dementors around a _school_! You refused to listen to my godfather's innocence, not even giving him a damn _trial_! You refused to listen when I told you that Voldemort was back! What else do you plan on failing to do?! You idiotic slab of House Elf excrement!"

Let it not be said that Harry didn't know how to curse. He'd after all spent several years sharing dorms with several other boys. Swearing came with the territory, even if he wasn't the type to insult people without good cause.

Interestingly enough, for once in Harry Potter's life, yelling at someone gave results.

It wasn't the result he'd been wanting, it wasn't the type of result anyone expected from his anger and frustration, but it was perhaps the result that they truly needed.

The Ministry shook underneath their feet, causing all gathered to stumble.

"The Right of the Protectors Has Been Invoked." A disembodied voice resonated through the dark halls.

Harry blinked. "What?"

Fudge squeaked, eyes darting around as if to spot the one responsible.

Dumbledore frowned as he tried to recall what could possibly have caused this.

Then, one Hermione Granger spoke up, proving that even as she really ought to be drugged and hospitalized for at least a week, she still knew more about everything than even the experts on whatever field she'd taken an interest in that day.

"'The Right of the Protectors', is a law put into place during the founding of the Ministry in case the Ministry proves incapable of even protecting itself from outside forces." She explained in a voice, slightly strained from spell-damage. "It was a safety precaution at the Ministry's founding that were put into place in the case that the Ministry proved that it would not be able to do what it was designed for. Namely, protecting Magical Britain. For how can it protect its citizens if it cannot even protect itself?"

Harry thought that this made a fair degree of sense, but he was a little bit confused. "Okay, great, but what does it _do_?"

Hermione paused, looking both annoyed and amused, but perhaps most obviously worried. "It gives the Power of the Ministry over to the ones actually doing the 'right thing'. The ones who protects the Ministry when it cannot protect itself." She took a deep breath, looking a little bit terrified. "Us."

XXX

"This is absurd!" Fudge shouted. "I demand you restore the Power to the Ministry!"

Dumbledore frowned. "I can't do that Minister, even if I wanted to." He made a few motions with his wand. "It seems that the magic inherent in the law has not chosen _me_ as its invoker."

"If not you, then who?" Fudge demanded as the crowd erupted into whispers.

"Well..." The former Headmaster mused. "Normally, this would've been given to the 'leader of the protectors'. So, considering that they're students at Hogwarts, it would be assumed that it would be the current Headmistress. However," He interrupted Fudge before he opened his mouth. "since their protection wasn't sanctioned by any authority within Hogwarts at the time, it would default to the leader of the 'initiative' as it were."

Everyone slowly turned to Harry, who was mostly ignoring the proceedings in order to listen to the healers describing the injuries his classmates had sustained.

"B-But, you came in to rescue him, right?" Fudge tried to reason. "That should make _you_ the protector, shouldn't it?"

"Ah, but I came to the aid of 'young Mr Potter', not the 'Ministry'. Thus, I was seen as merely reinforcements to Mr Potter, rather than a 'Protector' in my own right."

Everyone slowly turned to Harry again, who was by now looking a mixture of worried, guilty, and relieved, but who still wasn't paying attention to anyone but the healer.

"It could've been worse." Tonks commented with a shrug. "At least he cares about his subordinates."

None of those gathered could truly argue with that, though both Fudge and Snape certainly tried.

XXX

Dumbledore wasn't entirely happy with how things had turned out, in no small part because Harry didn't know _anything_ about Wizarding traditions – something that was technically Albus' own fault, even if he really hadn't been expecting this – but perhaps it wasn't a horrible idea.

The Ministry was... infected, by Voldemort's followers and sympathizers, and if there was one thing he could be sure of it was that Harry wouldn't hire any Death Eaters into their new government.

More worryingly however, was the fact that Harry already _had_ followers of his own, meaning that Dumbledore couldn't 'advice' him into giving Order members the jobs. It was... a bit frustrating that all of his careful plans had been so effectively been rendered obsolete by a stubborn boy who'd asked him a single sensible question.

"You're in charge of Hogwarts, right? Where were you when Umbridge was torturing the students with a blood-quill?"

Albus obviously hadn't thought the spiteful woman would go _that_ far in her disciplinary actions, but that didn't really change what his inaction had caused.

Harry needed to make a Ministry capable of actually doing something about the corruption, create laws that would make certain that nobody could undermine Hogwarts' education in the future, and motivate the public into changing their attitude. He didn't have time to listen to an old man's excuses, because whilst he might love him like a grandfather, Dumbledore _didn't_ know how to build the government best.

He did make an interesting sounding board in regards to how the more traditional views of their society would react to different changes, so he was allowed into a sort of 'transition advisor'-role, until the new government was firmly established in the minds of the public.

As for Voldemort? Albus wasn't sure, but the man could no longer count on letting his followers bribe themselves out of Azkaban, cutting him off from Lucius Malfoy and several other Death Eaters who'd been captured in the Department of Mysteries, unless he staged another jailbreak. This time against a prison that Dumbledore was suspecting would be reinforced in anticipation for such an event.

Yes, it wasn't going according to his plans at all, but such was life, and sometimes the surprises were what made it worth living.

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Story: [Harry Zombie Slayer]

Summary: Something goes wrong during Sirius' rescue in Third Year. Time doesn't allow paradoxes to go unpunished.

Genre: Adventure

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It'd been three weeks. Three weeks since Harry Potter disappeared completely and utterly. Three weeks since he'd dropped off the grid. Three weeks since the devices set to monitor him had shattered. Three weeks since Dumbledore found himself without a Chosen One.

Three weeks, only three weeks since Time had retaliated against the closed paradox that had been himself keeping his past self alive. Three weeks since the Time Turner warped itself beyond recognition, and Time itself wriggled and twisted.

Had it really only been three weeks since he'd been torn from Hogwarts and landed in hell? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

His godfather was safe, Hermione was safe, the only one to be thrown across Time and through the fabric of space had been him. For it was only he that had violated Time.

Three weeks he'd spent in hell. Rotting corpses walking amongst the precious few still amongst the living. It'd taken him nine days to find another living soul. Nine days spent in the company of nightmares. Nine days of endlessly fearing for his life.

He'd clung to life through his magic, barely able to kill the undead before they killed him. He'd casted spells until his throat was raw, then he'd learned to cast them silently through mindless desperation. He'd learned to make every spell count, his aim never wavering despite his exhaustion. He'd even begun to pick up on how to cast wandlessly, though he'd gone no further than calling his wand back into his hand, or sudden infernos that were just as likely to burn himself as that which he aimed them at.

Three weeks he'd spent in hell. He'd learned to kill, he'd learned to be cautious, he'd learned to be quiet, he'd learned to hate the smell of gunpowder, and he'd learned to react instinctively and with extreme prejudice to any attacks.

After nine days of wandering from place to place, of barely sleeping more than a few hours, of using magic to kill, he'd found them. Living people, people that like him managed to cling to life through sheer determination. Determination and guns, lots and lots of guns.

Harry hadn't used a gun, by then, he hadn't needed one. The others took him in, unsettled by how a child had been forced to endure what could easily break an adult, but they were happy to have him. He saved their lives, they saved his life. There was food, there was sleep, there was shelter. And finally, after three weeks in hell, they'd been rescued.

It was only once they'd already landed safely within the military that Time called to him once more, warping space and dragging him away. Dragging him back to the place he'd called home a lifetime ago. Back to Hogwarts.

Dumbledore was ecstatic when the wards informed him that Harry Potter had returned, and he rushed out to the castle grounds to meet him.

What he found was not something he'd expected.

Eyes endlessly sweeping for danger, hands never straying far from his wand, a calculated lack of effort in every movement, dark rings under his eyes, covered in dirt and grime, and wearing muggle clothes splattered with blood and gore.

Harry Potter didn't look the image of a savior so much as he looked the image of a survivor. This was obviously not the Hero of Light that Dumbledore had been hoping to groom, yet there was no tainted Dark magic lingering with his own.

The boy reacted to his presence with a wand aimed between his eyes, his own eyes dazed, confused, and yet filled with an inexplicable loathing.

"Three weeks." His hoarse voice croaked. "Three weeks, because you couldn't do it yourself. Three weeks without peace. Three weeks in hell." His eyes were glaring. "Three weeks." He spat. "Because you wanted children to do your duty for you."

Admittedly, Harry wasn't all that coherent or forgiving about the guilty parties to his three weeks of hell. They'd been part of his angering of Time, therefore he could blame them for it.

Dumbledore paused, not sure how to react to such blatant hostility, and not quite willing to brush it all under the carpet with a 'Harry my boy'.

"Mr Potter," He started instead. "Perhaps you should see Madame Pomfrey." He glanced meaningfully at his bloodstained clothing.

Harry didn't object, which could either mean that he thought it a good idea, or he was too tired to argue. Either way, the boy would hopefully not be quite so upset with him after he'd gotten a night of sleep.

The idea of sending him back to the Dursleys... it gave him chills of foreboding for some unknown reason. Maybe it was the way he moved, maybe it was his eyes, maybe it was the always-alert magic humming ominously just beneath the boy's skin, but Dumbledore decided that it would most likely be a bad idea to involve the Dursleys at the moment.

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Story: [Defeat of Gellert Grindelwald]

Summary: Not all kings wish to fight until their last breaths. Not all conquerors believe themselves justified.

Genre: Drama

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Gellert Grindelwald stood by the ostentatiously sized window, his gaze sweeping endlessly across the scene playing out beneath him.

So many years to fully form the plan, so many years to put it into action, so many years of war... He shook his head. And yet, it all came to naught.

Albus was coming.

He knew that the man he'd once loved was already moving against him, Gellert wasn't surprised. Whatever had been growing between them back then had ended so quickly. An argument, an accident, a death.

There had been many deaths since then, but he couldn't imagine one of greater importance.

The man he'd raised to power had been driven mad by it. Understandable, from someone he'd chosen to be nothing but a puppet, when the puppet proved itself rather movable even without his strings to pull him along.

No, it'd all been for naught.

His 'greater good' had been corrupted into a mockery of the original thought. The thoughts that he'd spun together with the man he'd once loved, distorted beyond recognition.

Gellert couldn't imagine loving Albus, not anymore. Not for being on opposing sides in the upcoming conflict, but because he still remembered that face. The face of Albus Dumbledore as he realized that his sister lay dead before their feet.

He couldn't love Albus. Not after seeing that expression. Not after seeing that pain and guilt be brought to life on such a kind face.

He would never love anyone else again. But he didn't love Albus Dumbledore.

Perhaps it was because he'd shut away his hurt from then that he'd allowed the plan to so spiral out of control. Perhaps it was because he was alone. Perhaps it was because he should've died back then. Shouldn't have watched Albus stand between himself and his only remaining sibling.

Aberforth should've killed him. He would've killed him, if not for Albus.

The man that he had once loved.

His great empire was crumbling underneath him, the twisted mockery of his 'greater good' was finally being torn down as the muggles advanced. And Albus would be there soon.

Gellert had the Wand now, but he wouldn't win. There was no way that he could win. He wasn't planning on fighting.

He just wanted to weep in silence. For all the mistakes, for all the ideals, for all the foolishness, for the expression on the face of the man he had once loved. He couldn't find the Cloak, he didn't know where to start looking for the Stone, but maybe Albus would fare better with the Wand in his grasp.

Maybe Albus would still love enough. Enough that the 'greater good' could bring light, happiness, a better tomorrow.

In the end, it mattered not.

He turned from the window, from the sight of the final struggle of a thankfully dying empire.

"Hello, Albus." He watched the man he'd once loved stare at him from across the hall.

"Hello, Gellert." There was pain in his voice, and his kind face still wore that expression.

Guilt and pain.

"I must fight you." Gellert finally admitted into the lonely silence of retrospection. "The Wand allows nothing else."

Albus' eyes narrowed. "You found it?"

"Only the Wand." He shook his head. "I scoured an empire, and I found not a trace of the rest." He sighed, meeting the eyes of the man he'd once loved. "It matters not. Let us begin."

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Story: [Insanity]

Summary: A very different Harry, accidentally gets sent back in time after his experiments goes wrong. Merlin knows what happens next.

Genre: Humor

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Mad laughter echoed through the chambers.

Hundreds of attempts, hundreds of failures. One success.

Well, it was _almost_ a success, there were still a few things that clearly wasn't working properly, but now the concept had been proven sound.

How many people stared at the moon? How many asked themselves what it would be like on its surface? How many truly dreamed of it?

Giggling madly, he pushed himself up from the floor, casually brushing off the soot that he'd been blasted with.

His hair was a mess, his clothes were torn and blackened, he was splattered with his own blood, and he had a vague memory of attempting to eat something that tasted of cardboard several hours ago. Oh yeah, he still needed food, didn't he? Bummer about that, he'd run out of the stuff two days ago, which probably meant that it was closing in on the time when he would start to hallucinate.

But food wasn't important, and hallucinations were easily ignored. No, the important thing here was the experiment. His successful experiment.

His giggling returning to its earlier cackling, he choked on the dust in the air and started coughing wildly.

Damn. Should definitely install some kind of air-cleaning thing.

Wheezing pathetically for air, he crawled across the floor. The air was heavier than the smoke and dust, so he'd be better able to avoid it if he stayed close to the floor.

His rear wiggling delightedly at the oddity that was crawling, he found himself distracted as he finally located that marble that he'd accidentally launched in one of the previous experiments. He'd thought that it had disintegrated from the air-friction after it started bouncing along the walls at supersonic speeds, but apparently it'd simply landed underneath this cupboard.

Giggling a little at the realization that this mere pebble had somehow survived the extremes of what he'd put it through with seemingly no harm done, he reached under the furniture to grab the perfect little sphere.

And had his molecules reversed on an instantaneous level as the marble _ate his soul_.

It hurt a lot more than he would've guessed. He hadn't even been sure if he actually possessed a soul before that particular moment.

Of course, no mad scientist worth their salt would give up their soul without a fight, that would just be silly. No, he struggled greatly against the Soul-Eating Marble of Doom.

And as his legs flailed uselessly in agony and frustration, he knocked out one of the legs to the table. The table on which his first success was placed. The success that promptly landed on top of him.

Turns out, having your soul eaten actually made the feeling of boiling metal forcing itself through your very pores seem rather bland by comparison. In fact, if it hadn't been because he was worried about swallowing some of the extremely dangerous material, he might've started laughing at the almost tickling sensation that accompanied it.

Then the world was turned inside out and he met himself in a halfway point between a river and a rainbow, unfortunately it made little sense as he was so very busy with remodeling his ship of fingernails, but that was alright since he could tell that the crab was important to time's waffling-iron.

Every molecule of his being shouting out in agony, he opened his eyes to the face of the world and stared into the abyss. The abyss met his gaze and smiled, too many teeth showing on too many mouths.

None of it mattered and existence dissolved into flashing colors.

He fell, vertigo seeming almost kind in comparison to everything else, and the colors multiplied into a time of lies. A time without truths to hold onto.

So he laughed. He laughed the deranged laughter of a man who'd seen too much to ever find the sanity he'd once left behind.

The look on his previously-dead uncle's face as he tried to grab onto the madly cackling six-year old just made him laugh harder. Oh, but maybe he'd be able to see dear uncle Vernon spew butterflies all over the carpet? He'd really been looking forward to seeing that.

His laughter took on a decidedly unhinged pitch, and as a hand grabbed onto his collar, he showed them just why they called him Mad.

He ripped out their entire skeleton through their noses, before shoving it in backwards through their ears, one half of it through each.

Of course, they only thought that he was doing that, when in reality he picked up their vacuum-cleaner and told it to eat their breaths until they breathed no more.

It listened to him of course, it was part snake and he was very good with science. So with a roar of its engines, it happily wrapped itself around three people whose graves he'd only visited to point fingers at and laugh, strangling them slowly but surely in what would most certainly be the most bizarre murder-accident of the century.

Ah, but it was good to be home.

Harry laughed happily, then set out for the crazy cat-lady's house, it wouldn't do to have his fun interrupted by old men and glasses-wearing beards. No, this was all far too entertaining.

XXX

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Story: [This Means War]

Summary: Fourth Year, Harry isn't pleased with the Goblet of Fire.

Genre: Angry rant? Is that a genre?

XXX

"Of course, you know..." Harry commented somewhat blandly in the silence of the Flaming Goblet's fourth nomination. "This means war."

Understandably, nobody thought his response was especially witty, and Dumbledore hurriedly waved him over towards the door the other Champions had passed through.

Unfortunately for all those present however, Harry had declared war. He might've done it with words and tone eerily reminiscent of a certain lisping rabbit, but that didn't make it any less of a declaration.

Thus, it really shouldn't have surprised anyone that instead of obediently following the Headmaster's direction, the Boy-Who-Lived instead walked up towards the Flaming Goblet who'd put him in this situation.

"I don't know who did it." He started over Dumbledore's protests that he really should be leaving the room. "I don't know how they did it." He continued. "And I don't really care." He swept his eyes over the gathered crowd, whatever indignant anger and fear he might be feeling for the tournament overshadowed by the strange calm that usually only showed itself when someone pointed a wand at him. "The die has been cast. War has been declared." His eyes took on a very unsettling glow. "To whomever it may concern. I give you your final warning. Run. Flee. I will find you. I will hunt you. And I will show no mercy."

With a final nod, Harry turned his attention towards the Goblet in front of which he'd spoken.

"I'm not sure if you can understand me." He began clinically. "But if you can. Know that I have experience with discovering and destroying ancient things, and let that be your first and only warning." He finished, then he turned towards the Headmaster, who was now looking remarkably pale. "And, Headmaster, if I ever find out that any of my yearly brushes with death are your fault, I'd advice that you write out your last will."

His final words said, Harry turned on his heel and walked back towards the door into which the other Champions had disappeared. The silence he left behind was the stuff of legends.

XXX

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Story: [A Short HHr Story]

Summary: Harry watches the rain, musing on his future. He gets interrupted.

Genre: Drama, Friendship, Romance

XXX

Harry looked out over the castle grounds. Raindrops moved quietly down the windowpane, turning the darkened view into a distorted blur of dampened colors.

It was strange, he mused to himself as he sat in the window. Rain was supposed to be depressing, a darkness away from the cheery sun, and yet it felt more comfortable than any day of blue sky and puffy white clouds.

Perhaps it was merely another quirk of his personality, though he was unsure of where he might've acquired such a thing. It was after all no more pleasant to work the Dursleys' garden in the cold pouring rain than it was under the blazing sun. Perhaps it was merely the lack of invasive brightness that helped him find comfort in the dark clouds outside.

How he longed for the world to leave him alone. How he longed for the world to turn their eyes on someone else.

Of course, he knew it was not to be. He was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Magical World would never leave him alone. Even his death would be turned into a spectacle... unless of course, the Minister decided that it was important that it not be known for his reelection campaign, then he would most likely have his name dragged through the mud before they came up with some idiotic story of how he left the country.

He sighed. He didn't like politics, or those practicing it, but raving about it would get him nowhere. Humans would be humans, and the sheep would never hesitate to turn their back on whoever they thought they should. It was cynical, but after growing up at the Dursleys he found optimism to be something of a long shot.

Good things didn't happen to Harry Potter. It was a bit sad, but nonetheless true. It was easiest to merely accept it and move along. His childhood was awful, bad luck. His school-years fraught with lethal dangers, bummer.

He didn't really want to be an auror, despite what those around him might think. An auror would be forever bound to the Ministry, which meant that they were bound to even the most idiotic of Ministers. Harry was independent enough to realize that he would be driven mad within the first week.

No, Harry didn't want to become an auror. But he most likely would be. Who else would hire Harry Potter? What else could the Boy-Who-Lived work with, other than the future protection of their society?

So he would become an auror. After he snapped? He wasn't sure where he'd go or what he would do after that. Maybe he could try to write a book. A book that explained what it meant to be Harry. That would be nice.

It wouldn't sell, of course. Someone would try to use it to drag his name through the mud, and with a snap of their fingers they would ban him from writing any more books about his life. Maybe because he thought the politicians were idiots, maybe because he revealed some kind of sensitive information that could be called proof of their stupidity. He didn't know, but the book wouldn't sell.

The gentle pitter-patter of rain continued, and he wondered what else he might do with his life.

He didn't particularly enjoy Quidditch. He loved the flying, but he cared little for the game. He would never be a professional Quidditch player, and he was pleased with this. It would mean more fame, more attention, more endlessly invasive people telling him who he was and what he was doing.

No, Harry was really quite peaceful with sitting on the sideline, watching the world change around him in that calm yet hurried way that old people never manged to keep up with. Perhaps he was too old for his age, too experienced in pain and sorrow and disappointment to want to get back up.

It was hard to tell, sometimes.

"-ry? Harry? You in there?"

He blinked, startled out of his thoughts by the voice.

"What is it?" He answered her softly, still comfortable with watching the rain.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hermione asked with a curious smile as she watched him stare out the window.

"I want to write a book." Harry mused a bit sleepily, it was getting late.

"A book?" Of course, Hermione immediately latched onto the idea. "About what?"

"Me. My life." He shrugged. "I don't want to be an auror."

Hermione looked at him funnily for a moment. "Why would you want to be an auror? Did you hit your head on something?"

"I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. It's expected." He explained a bit sadly, still not looking away from the rainy outdoors.

"You're Harry." She frowned. "And you'd be a horrible auror. You'd have to follow all those rules you insist on breaking whenever you save us all."

"I know that. But they don't." He sighed.

Hermione paused, inspecting his face for a moment, before huffing. "I guess, but why should 'what they think' matter?"

"Who'd hire the Boy-Who-Lived?" He asked in return.

"That's-..." She sighed. "That's probably a very good point." She took a deep breath. "So that's why you want to write a book?"

Harry shrugged. "I've had enough adventure. I'd rather just fly, but I don't want to go professional."

Hermione followed his gaze through the window, falling away into silent thought for a few moments.

"How big is your vault?" She finally asked.

"Big." He admitted.

"Big enough to live comfortably on it for the rest of your life without working?" She specified.

"Maybe. Hard to tell." He sighed. "I don't really think I'll have to worry about it though... I'll most likely be forced to fight and die for some stupid cause before I even graduate from Hogwarts."

Hermione opened her mouth to repute that, but closed it again, realizing that there did seem to be a pattern in his school-life that was pointing in that direction.

"You can't leave." She noted absently, a certain sympathetic sadness creeping into her voice. "They won't let the Boy-Who-Lived leave the 'Greatest Wizarding School of Britain'."

"I know." He nodded quietly, understanding and accepting it.

"We could fake your death?" She suggested after a brief moment of silence.

"I think there's a way to make sure if someone is dead or not. And I think Dumbledore would know." He pointed out calmly.

"I could research it, and then counteract them?" She tried again.

"And you're great at it." He said with a sad smile. "But it wouldn't be enough."

Hermione made a soft sound of restrained frustration. "I don't want to be on your funeral Harry."

"And I don't want to be on yours." He nodded, his eyes meeting hers briefly to convey his sympathetic sincerity, before again drifting back towards the rain.

"We'll have to fake both of our deaths then." Hermione tried to smile.

Harry snorted. "We'd have to make it convincing, and we'd have to counteract whatever way that's supposed to confirm our survival, and we'd probably still be forced to flee the country." He said with an amused smile.

She grinned at him, a happy sparkle entering her eyes. "Oh, fleeing the country now, are we? How very romantic of you Mr Potter." She drawled, still not losing her grin.

Harry blinked, snapping his head around to face her, his face heating up. "That's-..." He tried to force down the blush. "That's not what I meant." He finally got out.

Hermione gently bumped her shoulder into his own. "I know." She admitted, still looking out the window.

Harry stared at her for a moment, wondering at the slight blush that was spreading itself across her own cheeks.

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, Harry opened his mouth again. "You'd be the first one I asked."

Hermione jumped, her eyes suddenly locking onto his. "W-Wha-..."

Her face was turning redder, Harry noted with a fond warmth.

Suppressing the smile, lest she think he was making fun of her, Harry turned back towards the window. "You'd always be my first choice."

Hermione stared at him for a moment, apparently still shocked, and possibly enjoying his squirming pretense of nonchalance as he blushed as red as a Weasley.

"And I'll always be there." She answered, because she couldn't imagine anything else.

"I know." His lips twitched into a warm smile.

There were no more words between them, for no more words were truly needed.

XXX


	8. Harry Potter and Magicka Crossover

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Story: [Harry Potter and Magicka Crossover]

Summary: Harry was raised in the world of Magicka. He obviously turned out a little strange as a result.

Genre: Humor, Crack, Adventure

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

XXX

Harry knew many things.

He knew that magic was for the insane, he knew that you couldn't party without cheese, he knew that Vlad wasn't a vampire, and he knew that despite how many would argue to the contrary that being set on fire still hurt like hell. He also knew that Death tended to act a bit strangely around him whenever he got himself killed and ended up next to the travel agent.

This was all reasons as to why Harry was considered a bit on the odd side, even amongst the crazy inhabitants of the magic school in which he lived.

Because if being set on fire _hurts_ then you're suddenly willing to go to some lengths in order to avoid being set on fire. Such as hiding behind a meat-shield, or endlessly casting a shield spell of some sort, or wearing wet clothes, or exploding anyone that even considers aiming in your direction. It wasn't as if preemptive strikes was frowned upon, what with Revive being a pretty easy spell to learn.

No, Harry was seen as odd because normally wizards didn't mind being lit on fire, or get hurled into the abyss, or anything else that Harry believed was best to avoid. Sure, it was usually a bit annoying for them to accidentally lose their Teleportation Staff, but it wasn't as if they couldn't find a new one, and as long as they went out in an explosion that was entertaining, they honestly didn't seem to mind.

Harry, on the other hand, was paranoid about being sent away to meet Death, as the travel agent freaked him out a little, and the fact that dying usually hurt like hell didn't make him any more enthusiastic about it.

Then again, Harry was young, not even eleven years old, if Vlad – who was not a vampire – was to be believed. He was after all the teacher that had found the baby in the blankets that had grown up to be Harry Potter. And since Harry was so very young, most people just guessed that he needed a bit of time to grow up and learn to enjoy partying with cheese and insane spells that were more likely to kill themselves than their enemies.

Harry didn't agree with them, but that was mostly because he was apparently one of the few people who could actually feel pain at all, and trying to explain what that meant to most of the wizards was just asking for trouble.

Then again, just because he was considered paranoid, didn't keep the boy from joining his classmates in whatever hijinks they thought of. He just made extra sure that someone else was going to die before he did. There was, after all, no reason to suffer slightly when someone else wouldn't mind the experience at all.

Of course, that all changed when Harry one morning woke up and found a letter for him.

A letter speaking of a _different_ school of magic, one that he'd never heard of before.

XXX

"No Vlad, they didn't say anything about vampires." Harry reassured his teacher.

"Of course, but I worry about you young wizard, because I am not a vampire." Vlad explained himself.

Had Harry been raised in a normal household, it might've taken him a bit of time to get used to the pale count's 'verbal tick' of proclaiming himself to not be of vampiric origin. But Harry had grown up right next to the un-aging Vlad and had as such completely accepted that Vlad couldn't be a vampire, and that it only made sense that he told people such at any given opportunity.

However, this would be the last time for almost a year – possibly even longer, depending on numerous factors – that he'd be able to speak to the man who raised him. Or, well, spent time in his vicinity from an early age. Harry hadn't really been raised by anyone, having been something of a 'random orphan dropped on the doorstep of the school', which had basically meant that he'd been 'raised' as in 'dragged around and sometimes not being actively targeted by spells going awry' by students and teachers alike.

His position as the 'school orphan' had in later years also helped in making sure that nobody wanted to lit him on fire too often, lest he prove to them exactly what he'd learned by sneaking into the headmaster's personal library. Which in turn resulted in him only having been lit on fire a couple of times by the older students, and that most of those times had been accidents on their parts.

Harry might be considered hopelessly paranoid, but his paranoia stemmed from carefully accumulated experience, and an intense hatred towards feeling pain.

So it was that Harry didn't feel all that bad about being 'booted out' so to speak, into the unknown world outside of magically resistant walls in order to attend a school that had actually _asked_ him to be there. Because even if he wasn't unpopular by any stretch of the word, he was still an extra mouth to provide with cheese at every goddamn party, and so would be ruthlessly disposed of should the opportunity arise. It was only common sense, after all.

XXX

Harry frowned at the busy street that he'd landed on after Vlad had used the Crash to Desktop spell to boot him out of their local universe.

It certainly _looked_ magical enough, what with people waving wands around and all the robes people were wearing, but where were their staffs? Their layered magic? Their sudden-and-inexplicable urges to blow themselves and everyone else up with a Meteor Rain?

It certainly didn't look anything like what he'd come to expect from wizards back home. But, then again, one of the students had told him that 'Earth' was half-way out of Death's jurisdiction, and who knew what kind of crazy stuff might go on in such a place? There'd even been tales of Death having claimed that people _stayed dead_ here. Madness.

Still, he was on a mission to find himself some money, and then buy everything on his Hogwarts-provided list, so Harry shrugged the insanity off and moved towards the bank. It was easy to see that it was a bank, nobody else would build themselves a fortress on a street.

Thus, completely oblivious to the peculiarities of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter encountered his first goblin.

"Gah!" And immediately reacted like any sane individual would when they found themselves in close proximity to such a creature: by adding Rock onto Rock rapidly and then blasting the ugly thing with it.

Apparently, this startled quite a lot of people.

XXX

In hindsight, he should've considered that there might be some chance that the goblins weren't classified as 'dangerous but useful as target practice' in this world.

Thankfully for this mistake, it seemed that he was somehow famous and considered quite important, and since the goblin hadn't actually _died_ – Harry hadn't accounted for the thing wearing armor, he'd have to remedy that in the future – the young wizard managed to slip away to his vault with a warning never to do it again.

Of course, when the wary and heavily armed goblin that brought him to his vault admitted that he truly _did_ own all of that mass of gold, Harry began making plans for how to get it out of goblin hands. They might be considered harmless by the people of this world, but Harry had a well-practiced sense of distrust for anything that was capable of somehow injuring him, regardless of any peace-treaties that his ancestors may or may not have signed.

Still, he probably had a lot of time to think on this matter, and so he set out on his shopping trip.

XXX

"A wand? Why would I want a wand?" Harry frowned at the list, feeling distinctly peeved at the thought that they might ask him to give up his Strong Cup of Coffee.

It should perhaps be noted that Harry had become a little bit addicted to caffeine when he'd realized that not only did it heal him a tiny amount, it also gave him the minute speed-boost that was often so fantastically useful for outrunning horrible magic that was accidentally being slung in his direction.

Still, the list told him that he was in need of one, so he supposed that he might as well pick one up, and then dump it somewhere in that trunk that he was also supposed to bring.

Thus, Harry reluctantly made his way over to _Ollivander's_ and entered the worn-looking store.

"Ah, Mr Potter, I've been expecting you." A voice sounded from somewhere behind him.

Harry reacted like most people who'd grown up trapped in an asylum of individuals who were all capable of flinging fireballs at a moments notice. He threw the contents of his endlessly refilling Strong Cup of Coffee at the man's face.

It was sheer reflex, if he'd spent a bit more time to think about it, he would've immediately followed his spontaneous use of a technically-Water element that would've caused Wet by slinging a blast of Cold on him, thereby Freezing him for long enough that Harry could run away and throw a giant Boulder on him.

He might not have seen any true battles inside of the school, but that didn't mean that there weren't people who decided to kill each other over cheese, or burnt sausages, or any other number of things that Harry had learnt to deal with by killing every other moving thing in the vicinity.

Thankfully, despite Harry's dreadful mistake in battle-tactics, having the contents of the Strong Cup of Coffee splattered over his face was apparently enough to temporarily cripple the owner of the voice.

Ollivander would later make careful note that sneaking up behind his customers might not be something he should continue doing, simply for the sake of his continued health.

Harry was halfway through using a beam of Lightning Arcane to electrocute the man, when he suddenly recalled what had happened at the goblin bank. How he'd nearly gotten into big trouble because he'd reacted like common sense dictated.

Maybe... maybe he shouldn't electrocute and explode the man whose shop he'd just entered? It would certainly be hell to get all the blood and gore off the walls, Harry mused.

And so it came to be, that Harry _didn't_ do anything more damaging than splattering an old man in the face with a steaming cup of coffee.

XXX

Harry stared at the 'train-station' that he'd just arrived at, staring around in wonder at the odd sight.

There were people running around, there weren't any magic being used to explode anything, and there were huge caterpillar-like things made of metal that people kept walking in and out of.

Supposedly, the caterpillar-things were 'trains', which Harry thought – for the record – was a stupid name. The 'trains' didn't seem to be training anything at all, completely useless things. Much better to travel by airship... though he'd heard a few stories about airship-helmsmen randomly throwing themselves out into the free air saying things like 'I forgot to turn off the stove back home!'.

… Okay, so maybe airship-travel wasn't the safest of ways, with all of those explosives-carrying air-pirates, and helmsmen abandoning their passengers in order to surrender themselves to gravity, but at least there weren't any weird giant-metal-caterpillars running around back home. Crazy people.

Still, he restrained himself from throwing a Fire-Earth fireball at the train, since he didn't want to appear insensitive to other people's cultures. They weren't Dutch after all.

Instead, he tried to locate this 9 ¾ Platform, which wasn't a terribly bad name, actually. Because if the 'train' was regularly scheduled to leave only at 10 on the dot, then naming the platform a-quarter-to-ten would make it that much easier to get there _on time_. It made perfect sense.

Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be any platforms in between 9 and 10, which meant that either he was in the wrong building – which was fully possible, since he'd never been all that great at following directions – or someone had used a Crash To Desktop spell to randomly remove it from existence, or maybe they'd been really sneaky and put it somewhere completely different. Like in the vicinity of a really large clock.

Harry had seen a pretty large clock in the vicinity. This 'train-station' was probably just a ruse. That had been a very fancy-looking clock, really really tall too. Nobody would miss seeing the clock, which made it the _perfect_ hiding place for a Platform 9 ¾.

Thus decided, the young magician began to meander his way towards where he'd seen the giant clock-tower earlier.

XXX

Harry stared suspiciously at the man with greasy hair. "Are you a vampire? Because Vlad – who is not a vampire – keeps telling me not to associate with those."

The greasy-haired man somehow managed to glare at him even more intensely than previously. "I'm _not_." He spat.

Harry nodded, accepting this without a fuss due to his continued exposure to Vlad – who wasn't a vampire. "So, why are you here?" He asked instead.

"I'm here, _Potter_, because apparently you thought that you were _above_ taking the train!" The man snarled at him.

"No I didn't." Harry frowned. "Why do you think I'm here? I'm obviously looking for the Platform." Harry argued.

The man stared at him for a moment, seemingly trying to judge his sincerity, before asking. "What idiocy possessed you to think that Big Ben was a good place to search?"

Harry blinked. "It's only logical. The platform is called 9 ¾, which is obviously an allusion to time, and what bigger dedication to time is there than a giant clock?"

The man's eye twitched. "How did you imagine that the Big Ben would have access to the train?" He gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Well, I'm not entirely sure, _but_ I'm more used to airship-travel than these 'train'-thingies. And it'd be pretty easy to catch an airship from a tower that tall." Harry shrugged.

The greasy-haired man stared at him for a long moment, his eye still twitching sporadically. "Come along." He growled, loathing flashing in his eyes, as he grabbed onto Harry's arm.

XXX

Hogwarts had a very interesting ceiling, Harry concluded as he entered the Great Hall.

It was one of the very few occasions where he'd seen a magic that couldn't be implemented for sake of combat. It didn't even seem like it would explode and drown them all in mortar. Magic in this place was _weird_.

Then the old woman, who glared almost as intensely as the greasy-haired man, began reading names. And all the children whose name walked out and placed a really old hat on their heads. The hat would then shout out a name for one of the four Houses, and the children would scamper off towards one of the four tables representing them.

"Potter, Harry." The woman read out, and whispers spread out amongst the students as everyone craned their necks to see.

Harry didn't really know what to say about that, until he remembered that according to the goblins he was famous in this world. Thus, he simply ignored the stares and put on the hat.

_"Well, well, we-... Wha-? Mr Potter-? What in Godric's name! How are you still alive?!"_ A voice sounded within Harry's head.

Harry tried to remember if he'd ever encountered such an implementation of magic previously.

He couldn't think of anything, but he might've gotten distracted by sipping on his ever-trusty Strong Cup of Coffee.

_"You met Death?! A travel agent?!"_ The hat – because that was the only thing that made sense – demanded.

Obviously Harry had met Death, everyone ran into him a few times, that was just the way things were. Hell, he'd heard that Death was a regular visitor at the local chess-club, always enjoying a good game. Though Harry personally had only met Death a dozen times or so, in no small part due to how very insistent he was on not getting lit on fire.

_"What madness-?!"_ The hat sounded horrified.

Harry frowned as he tried to understand why the hat was sounding so shocked. He hadn't lived an abnormal life by any stretch of the word. Though he _had_ that weird thing where he actually felt 'pain' as it'd been described to him by a confused – but not vampiric – Vlad, unlike pretty much everyone else he knew. The hat might be surprised by somehow feeling the pain that he'd felt, or something. That was sure to be a new experience for anyone who wasn't him.

Though, it'd be annoying if the hat kept yelling into his head like that, it had a kind of really grating voice. Not nearly as bad as Death's – who spoke in all caps – but easily beyond the usual person's. Hopefully, it would get to Sorting him soon.

Harry got the oddest sensation of the hat wrenching its thoughts away from contemplating whatever it was that had upset it. _"... Well, ahem. You've got the intell- no you don't! You're madder than a hatter! But you've got dedicat- but you'd kill someone to take their place in line!"_ Harry didn't know why the hat thought that was odd, everyone did that. It was why lines were generally so short. _"You don't have any bravery at all! You're selfish and violent and insane!"_ The hat complained. _"Just-...!_ SLYTHERIN!" The hat thundered.

Gasps spilled across the Hall, and a few of the students apparently fainted for some reason. Even the professors appeared heavily disturbed.

Harry calmly returned the hat to the strict-looking woman, who looked just about ready to fall over in shock, and sauntered off towards the Slytherin table, humming cheerfully as he sipped on his Strong Cup of Coffee.

His housemates stared at him with a mixture of horror, disgust, and awe. Harry considered layering a few Fire on each other in order to 'clear the air' so to speak, but the food wasn't even on the table yet, and it would be rude to attack someone before you could say that you were doing it in order to steal their cheese. Harry didn't really enjoy sausages, after all. Supposedly this was due to a trauma that had appeared after being chased through the school's corridors by the undead a few too many times, just because he happened to be holding onto a Sausage on a Stick.

That incident had probably been when he'd fully dedicated himself to his Strong Cup of Coffee. It made it a lot easier to run away from the undead that were trying to eat his brains. Of course, since then he'd learned to just layer Life and blow them to smithereens. It was just easier that way.

XXX

Frost layered on Arcane, and suddenly the elder boy who'd been about to draw his wand in Harry's general direction got blasted off his feet. He didn't explode though, so Harry wasn't entirely sure if he was dead or not. Therefore, he quickly readied Rock and waited for more movement.

If there was one thing he'd learned over the years, it was that a good wizard was a dead wizard. This was simply because of practicality issues. If they remained alive, they usually fought back, which meant a risk for Harry to die or experience pain, whilst if they were dead, Harry would just rez them later and everyone would laugh it off.

Thus, he wanted to make sure that anyone he attacked was most assuredly dead, before he continued on.

Another student drew his wand, apparently deciding to join in the carnage – bloody wizards and their desire for violence – so Harry launched the multiple layered Rock at his face.

His head exploded from the impact.

Someone started screaming, and Harry reacted by layering Fire on top of each other and then blasted the gout of flames at the source of the noise.

The one that had originally started the mess was slowly crawling to his feet, so Harry mixed Water and Cold together to make Ice and then added Rock, before launching the torrent of needle-like shards of Ice in a wave towards the slow-moving boy's form.

Blood splattered over the walls.

There was still screaming, which was getting a little bit on Harry's nerves, so he layered Arcane, Lightning and Frost on top of each other, and blasted the annoyingly loud person. They exploded, covering the entire common room with blood and gore.

More people came out of their dorms, wands at the ready, so Harry did what anyone who was faced against a group of enemies would do. He added Arcane to Rock to Fire and then a few more Arcane just to be on the safe side, and began channeling it into the floor, causing everything in the vicinity to get singed and knocking everyone off their feet by the AoE attack.

Then Rock was added to Water, and turned everyone Wet. After that, it was easy to channel Lightning upon Lightning at their disoriented forms.

By the end of it, the entirety of Slytherin House had been slaughtered ruthlessly.

This actually included Snape, as the man had rushed to his House's aid when the screaming first began, and had received a beam of Arcane and Lightning to his face before he could even blink.

Thus, Harry curiously pondered whether he should clean up the mess and Revive everyone right now, or wait until the morning, when there was no chance that they would get in the way of his sleep.

Weighing the two options for a moment, Harry finally decided that he'd rather sleep properly than Revive someone who might snore. So, with a careless shrug, Harry sauntered over to the bed where his trunk had been placed, and cheerfully readied himself for bed.

It was a good day.

XXX

The Great Hall was filling up with whispered questions and budding rumors, for the Slytherin table was still unoccupied, even as the breakfast was growing late.

Even the professors were affected by the oddity, without Snape being present to explain this most peculiar behavior of the Snakes.

Then the doors launched open, as every student of Slytherin scrambled into the Great Hall, screaming in terror with eyes wide as they stampeded towards the doors to the grounds.

Barely having time to pick their jaws off the floor, Dumbledore tried to calm the clearly panicking students, only to be completely ignored.

"It was Potter, wasn't it?" A student from another table asked in a satisfied voice – clearly not believing that panicking Slytherins was anything bad.

A Slytherin in his vicinity turned towards him and cried with haunted eyes. "Potter is a madman! He left us there to die! We was in Death's mercy for _hours_! Do you know how time passes in Hell?!"

The stampede seemed to almost intensify in its mad dash for the grounds, and – as people were now understanding – away from Harry Potter.

Dumbledore frowned, that didn't at all sound like the kind of image that the Hero of the Light ought to inspire. He raised his wand to get a bit more serious in creating order, when the doors into the Great Hall opened again, and Harry Potter stepped out.

Covered from head to toe in gore, Harry was sipping calmly on his Strong Cup of Coffee, carrying a newspaper under his arm, and seemed not at all bothered by how the entirety of Slytherin House shied away from him, some of them crying out in terror.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry I waited until breakfast was almost over before I Revived you guys, but I overslept." The boy apologized, looking slightly embarrassed.

Silence greeted his statement, with the exception of whimpers coming from the rest of his Slytherin Housemates. The Savior of the Wizarding World didn't look like a 'savior', he looked like someone who'd been out in the blood-rain, and not noticed or particularly cared about it.

The fact that he'd just told them that he'd revived people... that wasn't possible. Even in the tale of the Deathly Hallows, the Stone summoned naught but a wrath from the underworld, present only to lure the living back into Death's grasp. And Harry Potter was claiming to have revived his entire House, and from the fear they had of him, and the way he looked, it seemed painfully obvious that he'd needed to resurrect them because he'd killed them all after the Sorting Feast.

"Ohh! Cheese!" Harry completely ignored the look of dawning horror that was appearing on the faces of most of Hogwarts' students, promptly sitting down at the Slytherin table to eat cheese.

The only reason Slytherin House hadn't managed to disappear into the grounds yet was because the doors were locked, and not even Snape was able to force them open. The frustration and horror combined was reaching the point where the greasy-haired man was actually beginning to cry a little, he was in good company though, as most of his Slytherins were sobbing in terrified despair around him.

It was a most unusual start of the Hogwarts school year.

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**A/n: I've always thought that it was odd that Magicka-fanficiton is so rare, I mean, they can inspire such unbridled **_**madness**_** in characters from other fandoms who encounter them, so why wouldn't it have been done a couple of hundred times already?**

**Anyway, I could never really figure out how I was supposed to write this, so I just ended up with a few brief snippets on the rest of Harry's First Year. Partially because I honestly didn't expect the Wizarding World to survive into his Second Year. Hopefully, they'll be enjoyable regardless.**

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"Troll! Troll in the dungeon!" Quirrell cried as he burst through the doors.

Harry immediately threw himself underneath the table in an instinctive move to get out of the line of fire of hundreds upon hundreds of excited wizards, that were surely going to fight each other over who got to go down there and kill it.

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Harry stared into the giant mirror curiously, wondering what this clearly-magic but definitely non-violent object would show him.

His unchanged face stared back at him, but a gleefully victorious grin stretched across his lips.

It was strange, Harry thought, because he'd never really felt victorious outside of the times that he'd managed to avoid getting himself killed by the wizards who surrounded him.

Magic was stacked behind him in the mirror, and Harry spun with panic in his eyes, already layering Arcane on Lightning.

The room was empty.

Feeling suddenly paranoid, Harry glanced back into the mirror, watching Elements stacking on top of each other, and then being launched at his back. The mirror-image's grin grew wider. The magic sputtered out harmlessly without him moving an inch.

Harry stared into the mirror, suddenly possessed by the absolute _need_ to know how he'd done that. How he'd succeeded in finding the one thing that Harry had forever wished for. Magical Immunity.

The mirror-image raised an eyebrow, mouthing something silently back at him, eyes still alight with smug victory.

Eyes trained on his mirror-image's lips, Harry tried desperately to connect the movement with words that would explain it all.

"The Deathly Hallows?" He finally breathed.

His mirror-image nodded, grin returning in full force.

Harry grinned back at it, an expression of delighted madness. He was going to find them, and then he was going to be _free_.

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"I'm the great Lord Voldemort!" The man with two faces hissed at him, raising his wand.

Harry splattered the man across the walls with Arcane layered on Lightning and Frost. Then he frowned. He didn't really feel like getting involved with whatever the man was doing, but that spirit bursting out of his shredded flesh kind of made him feel a little bit guilty.

So he Revived him.

And then there were two men standing in front of him. Weird, that had never happened before.

Frowning curiously at the men, one was clearly Quirrell, but the other was pale and in possession of glowing red eyes. The man with red eyes raised his wand at Harry with a triumphant cry.

Harry splattered him across the walls again, deciding that it'd worked pretty well the previous time.

Quirrell made a soft noise of horror, then he fell over. Apparently having fainted.

Sighing as the spirit again burst out of the shredded flesh with a cry of agony, Harry shrugged and Revived the man again. It was extremely rude to not rez people, even if they were kind of being dicks.

The man with red eyes stared down at his hands with fascination, before his eyes snapped back up to him, horrified anger on his face. He raised his wand.

Harry made a noise of frustration as the man was once again splattered across the walls. He didn't know what this guy's problem was, but if his previous reactions were anything to go by, this was all going to take quite some time to get sorted out. He Revived him again.

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	9. Collection Chapter 4

An Incomplete Potter Collection ch Collection 4

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Harry/Gabrielle: Malfoy's Beat-down  
I Plead Awesomeness  
Seriously Draco  
The Trouble with Souls  
Dark Magic  
Golden Rulers

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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Story: [Harry/Gabrielle: Malfoy's Beat-down]

Summary: A somewhat unusual duel in between Draco and Harry, on Gabrielle's behalf.

Genre: Action

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Harry's luck was bipolar.

He could walk straight into the worst kind of situation, without receiving any warning whatsoever, and he could walk straight back out, bloodied and exhausted, but very much still alive.

Thus, Harry shouldn't have been surprised when it turned out that he'd been accidentally married to a girl that hadn't even entered puberty, all because he hadn't wanted to risk her dying.

Of course, most people didn't actually know about Harry's bipolar luck and were as such completely baffled at how the situation had resolved itself. Which was why Harry was now standing in front of Draco Malfoy, waiting for Professor Flitwick to sound the start of their formal duel.

Harry might not be particularly pleased at the idea of marrying a girl he barely knew when he hadn't even lost his first kiss, but he'd be damned before he let Malfoy get away with mocking an innocent little girl who'd spent most of their 'wedding night' curled up and silently crying into her covers at being separated from her parents and elder sister.

Harry was still a virgin, but he was 'expected' to spend the night in bed with his 'wife', and he hadn't really been able to veto that, so he'd tried to dry the girl's tears and soothe her into peaceful sleep. Because she was an innocent, and he didn't like to see her cry, whether it be from sadness or fear.

No, Harry wasn't going to allow someone like Malfoy to spit at a girl who'd had no choice in the matter, and whose only crime was that she'd been born as the beloved sister of one of the Champions of the Triwizard Tournament. Which was why he'd declared a formal duel between the Families of Potter and Malfoy, despite Dumbledore's grandfatherly protests and Snape's insulting sneers.

Hogwarts as a whole seemed rather cautious of Harry when he'd ignored the wishes of the professors and simply glared down anyone who dared to open their mouths in defense of Malfoy's actions.

Apparently, being exposed to the benches and the five tables in the great hall rattling as they trembled against the stone floor, the banners above them billowing in the sudden wind, the candlelight flickering, and the glowing green eyes of an enraged Potter as Harry explained to them that he was _not_ going to let this slide, had convinced most of the students present that perhaps there was a reason for Harry's continued survival beyond his bipolar luck.

Gabrielle herself had seemed rather humbled at her husband's furious display of power.

The signal sounded, and Harry sidestepped the Expelliarmus that Draco sent his way, answering it easily with a Reducto to the boy's left arm, breaking the bone, and drawing the first blood of the fight. Of course, since it was a formal duel, it followed the rules of 'to a yield or to the death' rather than any of those that the professors might've wanted to impose.

As Draco cried out in pain, Harry threw a Silencio at him, quickly followed by a Sticking Charm on his opponent's wand. Leaving him, as a 'surprising' side-effect, incapable of surrendering.

The expression that flickered across Harry's face, easily convinced those who'd seen it that he knew _exactly_ what he'd just done, and had in fact been planning on doing so from the very start. And even for those who hadn't seen the expression, his next actions would probably have made them come to the same conclusion.

A weak Reducto barreled into the young Malfoy's chest, definitely bruising, and most likely fracturing the boy's ribs. It was immediately followed up by a Rictumsempra, causing the Silenced Slytherin's eyes to go wide in agony as he contorted himself in Silenced laughter.

An Incendio started a fire in the blond's carefully arrayed hair, before another Reducto broke the boy's foot. An Aguamenti put out the fire before he was burned too badly, and just as he breathed a sigh of relief at the Tickling Charm finally running out, Harry sent a Tarantallegra at him, forcing the boy to put his weight on his damaged foot as he danced without control.

By now, the eyes of the observers were wide. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was _torturing_ a fellow student with children's charms. It was an awe-inspiring display of creativity, a horrifying display of merciless cruelty, and a touching display of protective loyalty towards his young wife.

Harry side-stepped a desperate counter-attack from Draco, and followed it up by hitting the now-crying boy with a Supersensory Charm. Then he hit the boy with a Slug-Vomiting Spell before adding a Sonorus and a Cantis to the slugs that now littered the ground, causing them to sing loudly enough to compare to thunder.

This caused Malfoy to forget his attack-attempt in order to spend his time trying to keep his eardrums from rupturing under the brutal assault of sound.

In a twist of irony, Harry continued his torture by sending the same Tooth-Growing Spell that Draco had once hit Hermione with at the boy. And then hitting the immense teeth with a Glacius, causing them to be nearly encased in a block of ice, before returning to his trusted Reducto, shattering the boy's teeth completely.

The agony that followed was _probably_ not on par with the Unforgivable Cruciatus Curse, but considering that it'd been caused by spells that were mind-numbingly legal, it was far more unsettling.

Adding another Tarantallegra to make sure that his opponent didn't accidentally fall to the ground and risk that the professors might call the match as a win preemptively, Harry wondered what kind of horrors he could create from the average spells that he'd acquired over the years. He didn't want to hit Malfoy with something actually substantial, as that might make people assume that the inbred Slytherin was 'worthy of it', but wanted instead to humiliate and torture him with spells that most people considered harmless.

Let it be known that Harry Potter defeated the scion to the House of Malfoy using nothing but schoolyard inconveniences.

Unfortunately for Harry's creativity, Draco took his moment of pause to finally dismiss the Silencing, whether by accidental magic or silent casting, his first words put an end to their duel.

"I yield!" He cried, his suddenly-lisping voice breaking around a sob.

Harry felt a brief stab of disappointment, but there would most likely come other times to torture the Malfoy heir.

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Story: [I Plead Awesomeness]

Summary: The graduating class of Hogwarts from the war-time didn't survive without some rather peculiar quirks, and so Harry stands trial... again.

Genre: Humor, Crack

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Harry stared at the judge in disbelief.

"What do you mean 'Fiendfyre is bad'?" He demanded. "Didn't you see how awesome that was?"

"You turned a mountain into _glass_!" The judge thundered.

"I know! I've been wanting to try that for _ages_!" Harry responded with a gleeful grin.

"Umm, Harry. Wanton destruction is frowned upon. We've had this talk before, remember?" Hermione tried to rein in her somewhat pyromanic friend.

Harry turned to stare at her, confused. "Why? It's not like I killed anyone that mattered." He pointed out reasonably. "And there were enough muggle-repellant spells scattered around that the muggles will be lucky to recall that the mountain even existed in the first place within the next century."

"Harry, you still blew up a mountain. That's a bit like swatting flies with grenades." Hermione made an exasperated face.

This caused a brief moment of silence. From the purebloods, this was due to them trying to figure out what a 'grenade' was; and from Harry this was due to him imagining himself doing just that, literally.

Until Hermione broke it with a horrified groan. "Harry, don't you dare hunt down flies with grenades, or I swear I'll blackmail Neville into telling Padma!" She hurriedly tried to do damage-control.

Harry blinked, snapping out of his rather pleasant fantasies of wanton mayhem. "You've got blackmail on _Neville_? What did he do? Was he drunk? Was there crossdressing involved? Can I see the pictures?" He hungrily latched onto the idea of getting his friend to share her stock of blackmail-material.

The judge hammered his hammer – because even if British courts didn't have them in the muggle world, wizards had found the idea of hitting stuff with a hammer far too interesting to pass up, and had immediately incorporated it into their justice system – loudly. "You're in court, Mr Potter! I expect you to act like it!"

Harry frowned. "Can't you see I'm busy here?" He complained. "Hermione will totally Obliviate me of this conversation before we leave the room, so I need those answers _now_, or I'll never have them!"

"I would not!" Hermione hastily denied the technical charge of Obliviating someone without a license. Even though everyone knew that she was only doing it for show, since most of Hogwarts' war-year's graduating class had gone completely around the bend in some manner, and she had resorted to some rather heavy-handed approaches to keeping them from turning their world into a war-zone. Again.

Harry would miss New Zealand, all those sheep, crying out in unison before suddenly being silenced.

In hindsight, he probably shouldn't have dared Ron to knit all those sweaters. The guy was _dedicated_. Poor Draco had nearly gotten himself killed opening his Christmas present of a hundred-thousand knitted sweaters, all confined in just enough space to fit an average matchbox. They had been very nicely colored though, much better than maroon, even if it'd taken some extreme prejudice with fire spells to get them to stop trying to attack people.

Really, you'd think that a population that 'mysteriously vanished' would be busy doing cooler things than haunting people's sweaters and trying to drag as many others into the afterlife with them as possible, using nothing but yarn. Nasty buggers, those.

"Silence!" The judge demanded. "How does the defendant plead?"

"It was totally not my fault. They called Hannah not-nice. Wiping them out utterly was the only way to stop her from crying." Harry defended himself.

"He pleads guilty on all charges Your Honor." Hermione sighed. "He also pleads insanity, stupidity, chivalry, pyromania, temporary insanity, bad-hair-day, and 'being Harry'."

The judge gritted his teeth, glaring with his hands twitching in a way as if they wanted to wrap themselves around something neck-sized and _squeeze_. "The defendant is free to go." He finally ground out, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to draw his wand and hex him into oblivion.

Harry smiled happily up at the man with the hammer before making his way out of the courtroom, humming happily to himself. "Oh, wait, before I forget. I think I heard that Luna is planning on releasing the heliopaths again. Thought you might want to know." He waved cheerfully as both the judge and the jury started screaming hysterically and bolting for cover, whistling contently as he made his way towards where he'd hid his experimental fireworks with a bounce in his step.

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Story: [Seriously Draco]

Summary: Draco does a Sirius, coming to hate the family-name of Malfoy. Thus begins his quest to become _not his father_.

Genre: Friendship

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Harry was still actively keeping himself from gaping at the Alley when Hagrid ushered him towards Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions.

"Hogwarts, dear?" At his dumbfounded nod, the woman dragged him further into the shop.

"I'll be in the pub, the Gringotts carts don't agree with me." Hagrid told him as he abandoned him to the mercies of the woman.

Harry would probably have cared a little bit more if hadn't been so busy trying to wrap his head around everything that had happened since he'd been introduced to magic.

Another boy was already standing on a footstool, a blank expression on his face that spoke either of absolute apathy to the world, or long habit with their current situation.

"Hogwarts?" The blond boy questioned, arching a perfect eyebrow at him in a display of aristocratic curiosity.

"Yeah." Harry tried to keep from fidgeting from on top of his own newly appointed footstool.

"Do you play quidditch?" The boy continued, apparently deciding that smalltalk would be more appropriate than standing around in silence.

Harry had never heard of quidditch, but figured that whatever it was it was likely to be much like all the other sports that he'd found in the muggle world. Namely, he'd always get picked last, and no matter what he did once the game started people would find some reason to think that he was an idiot.

"No, I don't." He decided rather quickly, hoping that quidditch wasn't important in the Wizarding World.

The boy gave him a longer look, and Harry got the feeling he was being measured somehow. "Are you muggleborn?"

There was a small moment in which Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to say yes or no, and he probably waited for a moment too long, because the boy seemingly decided for him.

"Thank Merlin." The boy's perfectly cultured expression of apathy fell apart with a relieved sigh. "You have _no_ idea how annoying it is to make that face." He shot him the smallest of smirks. "My name is Draco."

He blinked, a bit startled by the sudden ease of the boy in front of him. "Harry." He answered. "Why-...?"

"Pureblood mask of apathy. Perfected it when I was seven." The boy made a disgusted face. "It's the only way to deal with my... _father_, and his colleagues." The title sounded disgusting on the boy's lips.

"You-... You don't get along?" Harry ventured, wondering if the boy could perhaps understand living with the Dursleys.

Something tightened around the boy's eyes. "He killed my mother." His expressionless mask was on again, his fists clenching. "Not that he couldn't bribe his way out of it, the bastard."

And suddenly the world of magic didn't sound nearly as fantastic as it once had.

"I grew up in a cupboard under the stairs." Harry admitted, feeling like he should share something with the boy who looked so horribly angry. "Aunt and uncle hated magic, you see."

Draco blinked, startled out of his internal turmoil. "They did _what_?" He stared at him with wide eyes. "But aren't muggles supposed to be-... different?" He sounded so horribly betrayed at the statement that it made Harry's heart clench.

"They have good and bad people, I think." Harry hedged, he'd never actually _met_ anyone truly nice, but he was sure they were out there somewhere. "They're human after all."

The boy paused, looking conflicted, before sighing. "Yeah, I guess. I just... hoped, you know?"

Harry nodded, understanding. That was what he'd been hoping about the Wizarding World, too.

Then Harry was suddenly done with his robes, and was moving out of the shop.

"Hey! I'll see you on the Express, okay!" The boy waved, looking after him with the same nervous hope on his face that Harry felt at hearing those words.

"Yeah! I'll see you there!" He waved back, before disappearing away with Hagrid towards Ollivander's.

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Story: [The Trouble with Souls]

Summary: Harry's reaction to Dementors when they surround him and his friends at the end of Third Year is... new.

Genre: Adventure

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Harry stared in mind-numbing terror as his greatest fear appeared before him. Not by its lonesome, but by their hundreds.

The Dementors had come for their prey. His godfather. His innocent godfather.

"Expecto Patronum!" He tried, but there was barely even silvery mist curling from his wand, let alone something solid enough to drive away hundreds of Dementors.

So they advanced. And for every inch they gained, the feeling got worse, the screaming within his head, the blurring of the edges of his vision, the bone-chilling despair.

"Expecto P-Pat-...!" His voice faded away, hoarse from crying out a spell that wouldn't work, his lips by now too numb from the cold to even form the words properly.

A skeletal hand emerged from within the creature's cloak, and something in him noted dazedly that he'd fallen to his knees before their horrible aura.

He wasn't paying attention to it though, too busy trying to pull himself away from that hand, the hand that was reaching for him. Not Sirius, not his friends, Harry; it was reaching for _him_.

Its grip was rough, so freezingly cold that its touch felt more like a burning iron than ice.

Its hood was lowered, revealing an eye-less face, and a lip-less mouth. And its shiver-inducingly cold breath smelled like rotting corpses and sickness.

Harry's last conscious thought before The Dementor's lips reached down for his own, was an insanely optimistic thought for the circumstances.

_I hope it eats Snape next._

Then the world turned into an endlessly icy ocean of blackness, and he felt himself drown.

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It pulled on him. It pulled and he couldn't resist. It was a bit like falling, just as unstoppable, but more because of the lack of things to hold onto or push away from than in similarity to the inevitability that was gravity.

So he was pulled, desperately clutching for purchase, and drawing ever-closer to the icy horror that he could feel lying in wait just out of reach.

Then his gripping hands found something.

A light, twisted and broken, tainted and sick, but it was _there_. And when Harry grabbed it, it slowed his movement.

But the pull was relentless, and even as he clung to the small broken little light, Harry knew that it wouldn't be enough, they were still being pulled in.

It was just... Harry didn't want to go to the icy horror, and he was bigger than the little light; more solid, stronger. It was the first time that Harry was ever introduced to 'being the big kid', and he kind of really didn't like the little light, no matter how much it helped slow down the pull. It was a bit like Harry would imagine holding onto someone's puke would feel like, he thought, and that wasn't really a pleasant image.

But if the light couldn't stop the pull, and he was bigger than the light... could he push off of the little light? Use it to return to wherever he'd been before, back to the safety of no-icy-horror? It would definitely seal the little light's fate, but he might be safe.

Harry was a nice boy, shy and unassuming. But he was a child that had seen despair many times in his young life and still managed to come out kicking. He was a survivor.

So he threw the light at the pull with every ounce of his strength, not hesitating for a moment.

And the icy horror reeled back, because souls weren't supposed to do that. They were supposed to struggle feebly against the pull until there was nothing left but despair, not hurl themselves into the waiting maws with such furious enthusiasm.

It didn't help that the little broken light wasn't so much a soul as it was a twisted shard, and it had a lot of jagged edges.

It was the first Dementor ever known, to die.

A horrible wail, that didn't so much come from its lip-less mouth as it came from magic gone out of control. And then for a brief moment, Harry watched the little broken light hurry back towards him, having _bounced_ against the icy horror rather than get sucked in.

And so, Harry decided that it could be used.

Smiling grimly as blood poured down his face, Harry watched the other Dementors freeze as their fellow creature fell to the ground, a broken shell of what it had once been. Then he pulled back the little jagged light, and more mentally than physically he _threw_ it at the next Dementor.

The horrible wail returned, and another black-cloaked body fell to the ground dead.

Harry's grim smile turned sinister. He wasn't going to wait to be saved, he wasn't going to use a spell to temporarily drive them away, he was going to slaughter them all. Because he was a survivor, and you didn't live very long by letting creatures who tried to kill you escape.

Another throw, another death, and Harry realized that the jagged little light was dying, unable to cope with the repeated impacts.

Harry didn't like the light, and thought its destruction was a perfectly acceptable prize to pay for killing off every Dementor that he could find.

He lost count of how many times he threw it, how many hollow bodies littered the ground, or when exactly they began to flee from him. But finally, the little light could take no more, and ceased to be.

However, it just didn't... disappear. It was still _dead_, but it wasn't _destroyed_. It was still a jagged piece of light, capable of being hurled at the Dementors as they tumbled over each other to flee him, but it didn't have that same twisted taint that had originally made him dislike it enough to sacrifice it for his own survival. It stopped being 'the little broken light' and became 'a jagged light', its identity and original purpose lost utterly in the aftermath of such use.

Harry didn't care. It could still kill Dementors, and so he used it to kill Dementors. There was no reason for it to be more complicated than that.

He hurled it at another fleeing back, and was rewarded by another horrible wail of magic.

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When Snape opened his eyes, he'd expected many things.

Originally he hadn't really been expecting to open them at all, what with being stranded together with Sirius Black, _and_ a Remus Lupin not on Wolfsbane during a full moon. But he _had_ woken up, so he'd started considering other things.

Obviously, in the presence of a mass murderer and a rabid werewolf, the three Third Years Gryffindors would've gotten themselves killed. This wasn't _all_ bad, in that he wouldn't be forced to not-hex them whenever they inevitably decided to break the rules for whatever thing they'd thought they ought to be involved with next. But it _was_ bad in that how trying to explain to the Wizarding World in genera the Boy-Who-Lived was an idiot whose life-expectancy Snape personally believed was bound to be insanely short – if for nothing else than his extreme curiosity – would most likely result in him being thrown into Azkaban.

There was also the idea that the only thing left behind from Lily would be dead, which was also bad. But kind of a different sort of bad. It wasn't the logical kind of bad that he'd gotten used to weighing endlessly after being Sorted into Slytherin, but rather a certain emotional bad that he was worried might cause him to act illogically.

Snape hated idiocy, and the idea that he might actively play a part in it by his own initiative was... probably reason enough to hate the idiotic brat all over again.

Still, he'd expected either waking up to bloodshed, or a face full of Dementor – they might be capable of driving away Black, but they weren't really to be trusted within a mile of anything remotely resembling a decent human being.

What he woke up to instead was... strange.

There were black-cloaked forms scattered across the ground, there wasn't any blood that he could spot, there were two of the Golden Trio unconscious on the ground, Black huddled in between them out like a light as well, and Harry Potter stood over them, a blood-crazed grin on his face that sent shivers of terror bubbling down Snape's back.

A scream rendered the night air, and as Snape watched, one last straggling Dementor fell to the ground dead.

Snape turned back to Potter. The idiotic brat that supposedly couldn't even stay conscious in the presence of a single Dementor, and he recalled the hundreds of black-cloaked forms scattered around the grounds.

Green eyes, not only alight with a defensive urge to lash out – that he'd spotted in a mirror a few times over his childhood – but literally _glowing_ with it. And that same wide grin stretching across his lips in a way that made the bleeding gash on his forehead look distinctly eery.

He didn't look like a savior. He looked like a madman, a psychopath, a predator backed against the wall who'd suddenly realized that it could make its attackers bleed.

The boy finally noticed him, blinking slowly, as if slowly beginning to recall that there was something that separated Snape from Dementors, but that he couldn't quite pinpoint yet. The boy was probably in shock then, or something similar, probably only barely coherent, if that.

Obviously, making any quick movements would be utterly foolish, and so Snape stayed right where he was. He wasn't really on civil terms with the boy, so trying to talk him down from whatever stress-induced psychosis he'd landed himself in was probably not an option either. Thus, Snape merely waited for one of the others present to wake.

Sirius Black might be a mass murderer and a traitor, but apparently Potter liked him better than he did Snape. Something which Snape actually didn't mind. He'd much rather that the brat get himself killed far far away where Snape wouldn't be held accountable for his death, and – most importantly – wasn't in any way capable of feeling guilty over his death. And the brat befriending a massmurderer that hated Snape's guts since they were school-kids lead him to believe that Harry would at the very least make an effort to disappear out of Snape's life forever. Even if only in the sense that Snape would be killed and that dead people didn't much care about the lives of the still-living ones.

In a perfect world where none of this had happened, Potter would've somehow gotten himself dragged off to Hawaii before he even managed to graduate, Snape would've been honorably-discharged from teaching snot-nosed little brats and allowed to set out and finding himself a proper employment, and he would never again hear of the nosy little shit until Snape died old and wise and respected – after which Potter was technically allowed to visit his grave at some point and tell him that he hated his guts. Yes, that would've been wonderful.

Unfortunately, the world was a place that seemed to enjoy torturing people, and if Snape had to suffer through Potter's presence, then he'd be damned sure that Potter would be forced to say the same.

So he simply met the boy's eerily glowing eyes, and hoped that he would be too confused from his recent madness that he wasn't holding a grudge over the hell that Snape had put him through in class, because Snape couldn't find his wand on his person, and he really didn't want to fight an insane brat who not only actually held a wand but did so in a manner that seemed to be indicating that he'd almost forgotten that it was there, but had still manged to _kill Dementors_.

All in all, Snape's original assessment of the coming day had been right when he'd opened his eyes earlier in the morning.

This had been a shitty day.

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Story: [Dark Magic]

Summary: A dialogue between four friends, in the midst of a somewhat violent situation.

Genre: Humor, Crack

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The first thing to remember in a magical battle is quite simply: don't get hit.

This might sound obvious, but it really isn't. Taking a hit means at best inconvenience and at worst instant death, blocking a hit means a brief lull in your own attacks. When this slight lull is multiplied by having numerous people casting spells at you simultaneously, the 'lull' becomes a complete immersion into defensive spells. Thus, don't get hit.

Harry sighed tiredly as he stepped out of the way of another green flash, a little bit disappointed in the Death Eater's lack of creativity.

The sigh turned a little bit frustrated as another Death Eater was caught by the curse, and promptly fell down dead. Honestly, it was like nobody ever taught these idiots anything at all.

Alright, so maybe the Hogwarts curriculum was designed to only teach people spells that allowed them to be properly awed by the half-squibs that was the Ministry, but that didn't mean that people who were planning on using them as cannon fodder could just send them out to die without any directions at all, could it? That was such an utter waste of good property. Or even possibly-useful property.

Everyone feared Voldemort, which was perhaps understandable, considering that the man was both insane, trigger happy, and quite talented. But this was a shameless display of utter incapability if he'd ever seen one.

"It's like he doesn't even realize that even complete and utter morons can be taught how to fight as a group, and thereby actually pose a threat to someone." Harry complained.

There was a short bark of laughter from Neville. "Harry, he's a paranoid bastard, of course he's not going to teach _anyone_ to become competent enough to pose an actual threat to anyone even remotely close to his caliber, insanely magically-enforced loyalty or not." The boy commented cheerfully.

"But they're all just going to waste!" Harry whined. "Why couldn't he have left some of these brainless idiots for us to corrupt? I mean, it's not like he's actually _using_ them for anything."

"Cannon fodder is still 'being used', Harry." Hermione scolded him as she carelessly cut a Death Eater's throat, somehow managing to dodge the sudden spray of blood.

"And do you really want idiotic purebloods as minions?" Luna picked up where the other girl left off, smiling serenely as she turned a man's shoes into acid, before hitting him in the head with a Bludgeoning Curse, killing him as he danced in agony.

Harry pouted as he slit a passing Death Eater's throat. "Well, no. But it's still such a _waste_." He tried to convey his frustration with the paranoid wanker.

"How about we get you some squirrels, and you can teach them how to chew a man's face off?" Neville suggested as he used a Piercing Charm to splatter some pureblood brain-matter on the robes of a few of the surviving Death Eaters.

"No! We're not giving him any new pets! Not after what he did to those poor poor creatures!" Hermione instantly objected.

"Seconded." Luna agreed, a small frown developing on her face at the memory as she vanished part of a Death Eater's kneecaps, making him fall in front of another uncreative Killing Curse from his peers. "Nifflers aren't supposed to act like that."

Neville suppressed a shudder, and lit a pair of Death Eaters on fire in order to keep the sudden chill running down his spine at bay.

Harry made a frustrated noise. "I already apologized for that! And it wasn't my fault that they thought that the eyes were the most 'glittery' part of the human anatomy!" He argued as he transfigured one of the Death Eater's masks into becoming air-tight, making the man claw desperately at it as he collapsed from lack of oxygen.

"No, we already agreed that that was Dumbledore's fault." Hermione sighed. "But you set a very bad precedent, Harry." She reminded him as lightning flash-fried another Death Eater.

"Dobby certainly didn't help matters." Neville mused.

Everyone fought down a shiver, even Harry. Some things were just not supposed to be seen.

"I still say we should've Obliviated ourselves from witnessing that." Harry tried to keep from gagging, seemingly accidentally moving out of the way of a Bone Shattering curse that instead hit another Death Eater in the neck.

"If we did, there's a chance – however small – that it might happen again." Luna argued. "Would _you_ want to risk the chance of that happening?"

"Can we just stop talking about this? I feel like I'm going to be sick on one of these guys' corpses if I don't get that image out of my head." Neville complained, neatly gutting a Death Eater, before animating his scattered intestines to strangle another one.

"Well... the weather's nice?" Harry tried pathetically, having always been lousy at small-talk.

Hermione groaned. "Harry, we're in _Britain_, the weather is _never_ nice." She reminded him, as she hit a Death Eater with a skin-flaying curse.

"But then why does everyone keep insisting that it's something worth talking about?" Harry whined, casually decapitating a Death Eater who was looking at him funny.

"People love to complain, I guess." Neville shrugged.

"So they just... complain to each other? Endlessly?" Harry sounded horrified. "But that's like... like acting like the _Dursleys_."

"Harry, your relatives might be horrible horrible people, but they're also very used to acting like people in public." Hermione reminded him with a sigh as she made a Death Eater implode on himself.

"I still say that we should've just told Dobby that they hated socks." Neville pointed out as he side-stepped another Killing Curse. "Damn, they're _amazing_ at being unoriginal." He breathed in awe as the Killing Curse went on to kill another Death Eater.

"Don't learn from their mistakes either." Luna smiled. "Otherwise they would've tried running away by now." She followed up her argument by sending a few Piercing Charms through a handful of Death Eaters' eyes.

"But, the Dursleys complain even when they're acting horribly? Doesn't that make 'people' horrible too?" Harry tried to wrap his head around this new issue, completely ignoring how his arm was still instinctively killing the Death Eaters in his vicinity in the most casually efficient ways.

Luna hummed happily. "And that's why daddy went insane."

Harry stopped wallowing in his horror as he considered that. "I think... I think I understand now." He nodded thoughtfully.

Hermione groaned in despair. "Dammit Harry! You're not allowed to go insane! The last time you tried that, we had to Obliviate most of Hogsmeade!"

"I'm never allowed to do _anything_ fun!" Harry complained. "I'm not allowed to have new pets, not allowed to go insane... what's next, will I have to pretend to get along with people I don't particularly like?"

Neville split a Death Eater's head open like a melon, before shrugging. "I'm pretty sure my Gran told me that that's how society works."

"Oh, Merlin's soggy ball-sack!" Harry cursed. "Can I at least put another species in charge of the world after we've conquered it?" He pleaded to Hermione.

Luna giggled. "Every magical species that you're not hated by, is too obsessed with themselves to care about ruling the world."

Harry frowned as he cut a man open. "What about the House Elves?"

"Dobby." Hermione reminded him.

Harry made a face. "Oh, right. Well... maybe I can give the world to a non-magical species?" Harry tried.

Neville barked a laughter. "Aren't most of those species less intelligent than Trevor?"

Hermione snorted as she used a fire-whip to decapitate another face-less unimaginative minion. "Trevor has an IQ higher than Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy all put together."

"That's not fair, Hermione." Luna scolded her gently. "They can't help it that they were born inbred and deliriously stupid."

"They didn't kill themselves at birth and make life more pleasant for other people, though." Harry absently countered the blonde's defense of the idiots, frowning a little at how blood-stained his robes were getting from all of the gore that kept raining down on him from the Death Eaters. "This is never coming out of the wash." He mourned silently.

"I would say something chauvinistic about that, but I like being baritone." Neville mused with a wistful smile.

Hermione made a disgusted noise as she hit a Death Eater in the throat with a Piercing Hex. "Oh please, what's feminine about not wanting to show up somewhere covered in blood and guts?"

"Well, if you're covered in it, it's bound to get into your hair." Luna guessed helpfully, before animating a Death Eater's body into beating its former peers to death.

Neville made a disgusted noise. "Pureblood guts, in my hair? I don't think that's a female thing at all, in fact I'm pretty sure nobody would want that."

"I don't mind the hair so much, a bit of water will clean it out, and if it gets discolored then people will just think my hair is taking after my redheaded mum." Harry shrugged. "But getting new robes? Going shopping for new robes? Using money on something as frivolously pointless as new robes, just because I can't get these idiots to stop bleeding on me?!" He vented his frustration by hitting a Death Eater in the stomach with an Exploding Curse, nearly splitting the man in two, and incidentally getting himself even more soaked in blood and gore.

Hermione laughed at him, far too amused at his sudden moan of misery to not do so.

"Maybe you should try for strangulation instead?" Luna mused.

Shrugging carelessly, Harry conjured a rope and animated it into strangling a Death Eater. It didn't stain his clothes at all. "Thanks Luna." He threw a happy grin at the blonde.

Neville snorted. "Of course he didn't actually think of that previously." He shook his head in mocking awe. "And they call _me_ forgetful."

"Speaking of forgetting things." Hermione began as she disemboweled another Death Eater. "What day is it today?"

"Wednesday?" Neville guessed.

Harry made a frustrated sound. "Dammit Neville! You know that I don't want to know the weekdays! It's the only way to stay immune!"

Neville had the grace to look guilty. "Sorry, Harry. I forgot."

"You still haven't answered the question." Hermione interrupted the boys' bickering.

"Nargle migration day?" Luna joined in.

"Is it one of those number things? Because I can't keep track of those unless I want to accidentally remember the weekdays." Harry admitted shamelessly.

Neville narrowed his eyes in thought as he hit another Death Eater with a Bludgeoning Hex to the head, cracking his skull. "Wait... is it...?" He turned to Hermione, looking suddenly terrified.

Hermione smiled a sickeningly sweet smile, before nodding slowly.

Neville paled. "Oh crap. Uhh... happy birthday Hermione?"

"Ouch." Harry winced as he realized what was happening to the other boy. "Smooth, Neville."

Luna huffed at him. "Really Harry, you're just as bad."

"Yes, but everyone already _knows_ that, so I can usually just make sure that someone else knows enough to remind me." Harry pointed out with a victorious grin.

"I'm not sure if that's brilliant or stupid." Luna admitted with a vaguely annoyed pout as she dodged another Killing Curse, this time disemboweling the Death Eater who shot it.

"There's a fine line between genius and insanity." Harry reminded her.

Luna hummed thoughtfully. "But how would you know that the spirit hiding in the walls won't drive you insane?"

Frowning curiously, Harry finally shrugged. "Maybe you drill some holes to try and talk to it?"

Hermione made a frustrated sound as she turned from her conversation with Neville. "Luna, Harry, you're mixing the origin of a word with a much-later idiom using that word. They're unrelated."

Neville smiled gratefully at both of them, cheerfully returning to chopping off Death Eater limbs now that the danger of Hermione's anger had been temporarily averted.

"Really? But why would you use a word and make it mean something that it doesn't?" Harry demanded with a frustrated huff.

Hermione sighed. "Words evolve, Harry. Just like the language does. Why do you think 'Smith' is such a common surname?"

Narrowing his eyes in thought, Harry finally shrugged. "Maybe they had lots of sons?"

"Makes sense." Neville mused with a sensible nod.

Hermione huffed as she lit a Death Eater on fire and then put it out with a spray of acid. "Most people named 'Smith' aren't related." She casually shot down their argument. "But when given names weren't enough to separate people – because they were running out of names – people started including titles for their work in their names. And nearly every village had a smith of some sort."

Luna cooed delightedly at learning new things. "So I would be 'Lovegood' because we were famous for being loving and nice?" She asked, cutting off a Death Eater's hands and then suspending him in the air in order to intercept another Killing Curse from one of his allies.

Hermione flinched, looking horribly conflicted. "Uh... yeah... that's... definitely it Luna..." She glanced away from the blonde.

"Hermione, why are you-...?" Harry frowned confusedly at the girl.

"Harry, did you ever listen to those war movies with the girls that barely spoke the language?" She interrupted him.

There was a pause during which Harry accidentally castrated a Death Eater with a Bludgeoning Hex. Then he paled. "You mean-...?"

"Yes." Hermione hurriedly assured him.

Harry looked slightly horrified for a moment, before suddenly realization seemed to dawn on his face. "Oh. So _that_'s why all those spells were in her family grimoire." A somewhat goofy grin slipped onto his face.

Hermione gaped at him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Neville asked curiously.

Harry blinked, turning his attention back to the other male. "Luna's family was very good at love." He answered without hesitation.

Hermione groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Harry, sex isn't love."

"No, but the two of them combined definitely makes both better." He grinned gleefully at the girl.

Neville made a noise that spoke of an incoming headache. "I'm not even going to try to figure out what the two of you are talking about, because I'm sure I don't want to know." Then he turned back to boiling a Death Eater's eyeballs.

XXX

XXX

Story: [Golden Rulers]

Summary: Hermione doesn't like being petrified, and the Golden Trio set out after Second Year with a rather different goal in mind.

Genre: Adventure

XXX

Hermione blinked.

The last thing she could remember was standing in a hallway, looking around a corner using a mirror, and seeing the reflection of large yellow eyes.

So... the Mandrakes must've matured... that was good. But didn't the professors say that it would take until... the end of the year? Did she just... miss her classes? For several months?

And, unlike how Hermione should've gushed in relief at the realization that she was safe, and that she could go see her friends, and that everyone had gotten better, and that everything was fantastic and wonderful in the world... Hermione instead came to the conclusion that she'd just missed several months of her life.

She'd just missed several months of her life, and why hadn't anyone considered _buying_ matured Mandrakes? Why did they insist on _growing_ them? Was it just wizards being backwards again? Was it simply difficult to store them properly? Or was it for some deeper purpose?

Hermione found that she didn't care, because she'd just lost months of her life, because some utter moron hadn't managed to figure out what she – a second year – had done, and begun patrolling the corridors with roosters. And right now, Hermione didn't feel like cheering deliriously, she didn't feel like hugging people, she didn't feel like... something _good_ had happened. She just wanted to draw her wand and hex someone into oblivion, because she'd just lost _months of her life_.

Carefully crawling out of the hospital bed, and ignoring how Madam Pomfrey began fussing over her wakening patients, Hermione staggered her way towards the door, making sure to snatch up her wand on the way.

She knew that she couldn't hex anyone, because Harry had supposedly vanquished the Beast in the Chamber of Secrets in a rescue of Ginny Weasley, and that meant that there weren't any enemies left for her to take out her angry frustration on. Thus, she couldn't actually hex anyone, but she wanted her wand with her nonetheless.

Madam Pomfrey was thankfully either too understanding or too easily distracted by her other patients to bother her, because Hermione made it out of the Hospital Wing without interference from the woman.

And by the time that Hermione had navigated her way through Hogwarts towards the Great Hall, where everyone was eating by now, she'd gotten a decent handle on how to not walk like a statue. Cured from petrification she might've been, but she was still horribly stiff.

The doors swung open, and there were her friends. The two heroes of the adventure into the Chamber. The two idiots who'd apparently ignored the staff once again in order to rescue someone important to them. But she couldn't really be angry at that, because the staff was apparently consisting of complete and utter morons, even without including the gibbering wreck that was Gilderoy Lockhart.

It was mostly instinct that caused her to ignore her dark-haired friend's aversion to touch and hug him anyway, but when her mouth opened in what everyone who watched was assuming to be silent thanks to his heroics, she instead told him something of dire importance.

"I just lost several months of my life, because nobody in the staff entertained the idea of _buying_ matured Mandrakes."

Harry, who'd been hesitantly responding to her hug, stiffened at her words, before answering her in the same silent voice.

"So?" And despite how it should've sounded condescending, he managed to make it sound like 'and where exactly are you going with this, you-who-are-more-brilliantly-clever-than-me?' instead.

He was really very talented in speaking with his tone. Probably all the experience he got from being bitterly sarcastic about his life.

"I don't know. But I'm not pleased." She grudgingly admitted.

With the tiniest of nods, Harry accepted this message, and she retreated from his arms, turning instead towards Ron.

She was halfway into hugging him and telling him the same thing she'd told Harry when she suddenly remembered that Ron had siblings who would tease him mercilessly for weeks on end if she did something like that in public, not even including an overbearing mother who might get strange ideas into her head that Hermione really didn't want to encourage at the moment.

She shook his hand instead, much to the boy's carefully hidden relief, and gave a tiny jerk of her neck, indicating that he should talk to Harry.

So, when they seated themselves, Ron immediately leaned in closer to them and began loudly explaining what had happened whilst she'd been gone, coincidentally leaving his ear in close proximity to Harry's mouth.

And with Ron's loudness, nobody noticed Harry's brief recounting of their own brief dialogue.

The three of them were going to have a long and serious talk about what the Basilisk-Incident actually meant for the Golden Trio.

Hagrid had been arrested and dragged off to Azkaban without any evidence of guilt; Hogwarts' staff had failed utterly in finding the origin of the creature that a Second Year – no matter how clever – had figured out; despite the Ministry obviously being informed there'd been no auror-presence within the school looking for suspicious people; nobody had considered it strange to wait for the several months it took for the Mandrakes to mature rather than buying them from somewhere else – thus condemning students to losing several months of important school work – and Dumbledore's only action against the Ministry's complaints of his managing of the school had been to run away with Fawkes instead of reasoning with anyone.

It was a list of... very uncomfortable facts. Because even if one or two of those facts could be explained away somehow, all joined together they formed a disturbing picture of the Wizarding World. A picture of incompetence, corruption, and an absolute inability to actually think of what they were doing instead of repeating the same thing over and over.

Hermione had – much like any child – always loved the idea of doing magic, of being inherently more special than anyone else. But this-... dealing with all of this-... the idea that the society which proved how special she was was in itself so-... Hermione was finding herself lost for words.

Ron wasn't entirely sure what she meant when she began to explain how a society should work, having never had any other society than the Wizarding World to consider, but it didn't take him long before he too began to grasp just how badly things truly seemed to have become.

Harry didn't want to see it, desperately longing for a place to belong, and it actually took both Ron and Hermione working together to convince their friend that even if their society was corrupt and horrible and awful, they were Harry's friends, and they wouldn't leave him alone. Ever.

It took Hermione five minutes to figure out where to go next.

"Boys. We're going to conquer the world."

Her two friends turned towards her, looking a little startled at the certainty in her voice.

"Like Voldemort tried to?" Harry asked with obvious reluctance, causing Ron to shiver instinctively.

Hermione made a face. "No. You-Know-Who was a mass-murdering madman. _We're_ none of those things." She took a deep breath. "Politics is out of the question however, because... let's face it, even if we somehow managed to conquer it that way, we wouldn't be able to do anything about how things worked before everyone would start to revolt at us for 'rocking the boat'."

Ron hummed in thought. "That only really leaves violence, Hermione." He finally pointed out.

There was a moment of frustrated silence as everyone recognized that as the truth, and were distinctly displeased with the idea of going to war.

"What if we started a new country, and then just sort-of invaded Britain?" Harry wondered, recalling a lesson from muggle-school and the Romans changing many things upon their invasion of England.

Ron looked confused. "How do you 'sort of invade' a country?"

"International politics." Hermione responded with a triumphant smile.

There was a pause as everyone allowed that thought to sink in properly.

"So... how do we make a country of our own?" Harry finally asked.

Hermione grinned slowly. "There's actually an interesting book about the 'making of Atlantis' in the library."

Ron, uncharacteristically, was the first one to shoot to his feet. "Onwards! To the library!" And then they were off.

XXX


End file.
